


From the Ashes

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Clint and Bruce (Hulkeye) [12]
Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Baby Makes Three, Faeries - Freeform, Family Feels, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Mutants, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Ritual Sex, Sexual Content, Wedding Night, Weddings, fluffy endings, toasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1285162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3 of the Broken Blade Trilogy:  Clint never imagined he'd have a baby to care for, a man that he loved, and a strangely functional family filled with superheroes and bad ass secret agents. But now that he does, he's going to do whatever necessary to keep them all safe. Queen Mab and her fairy court can't have any of them ... and that includes his brother Barney. </p><p>Faeries, it seems, are aliens who want to regain a foothold on Earth and plan on taking over people with mutant genes to open the doorway for the rest. Now that Bruce has more control over the change, and the Other Guy is pretty darn happy with his Cupid and Becca, maybe together they can save Clint and the others from becoming hosts for Queen Mab's court. That is, if the Hulk doesn't smash them all first. </p><p>This story is told from Clint's, Bruce's, and the Hulk's POVs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Muster of Rohan

**Author's Note:**

> The story thus far:
> 
> General Thaddeus Ross showed up again and Bruce ran, not away from Clint, but with him. Trying to figure out why they'd both been injected with nannities and what HYDRA's plan was, they contacted Betty Ross who, unfortunately, was captured along with them and subjected to Richard Fisk's, a HYDRA commander, experimental testing. Both the General and Betty were changed into red hulks; Clint's latent mutant gene was activated and Bruce found himself able to remember what the Hulk did and control the change more. With Fisk in custody, they discovered that he was working for Queen Mab, an alien who once lived on Earth centuries ago where she and her people were the beginnings of fairy stories. 
> 
> Then Clint received a picture of a daughter he never knew he had who was being held prisoner by Julio Ochoa, son of a drug cartel lord. While Clint was going under the name of Ronin, he took a contract on Julio's brother ... and left behind a woman who never told him he was a father. Clint, Bruce, Phil, and Natasha went to Columbia and found Julio working with Mab to create a child capable of being her human host; Margarita, Clint's daughter, was pregnant with the child. Julio loaded Clint up with a designer drug that made him open to Mab's Knight, but also allowed him to use the Hulk's regenerative power to heal himself. A new faction of faeries, the Summer Court, was revealed to be working against Mab; Herne the Hunter helped Clint escape and realize that his past interactions with the tesseract and magic actually protected him. 
> 
> Now, with baby Becca in tow, Bruce and Clint are back in Avengers Tower, trying to find a way to stop Mab's plan. With his daughter safe at Charles Xavier's school and Becca under constant guard by the world's greatest superheroes, it seems almost impossible for Mab to get to her ... or is it?

**NOW**

Silk slid across his skin, falling down his back and pooling at his feet. The grey fabric spread out on the ground as he stepped forward and offered up his arms for the leather cuffs. Knees dropped to the earth as they pulled his hands down and connected the chains, locking his hands to the circle buried in the ground. The stone was cold against his stomach and he flinched as they pushed him against it, the leather slipping around his ankles. The sounds of the watchers rolled over him, but the drug was doing its job, his cock aroused, his body relaxed. Worked like advertised. At least, when the moment came, he’d be ready.

The music grew, a surge of sound that overwhelmed his senses. Naked, pinned down, he was affected by it, the madness pounded out with the beat of the drums, the riot in the melody. His blood pumped in time, running through his veins and swishing in his ears with every pulse. In the darkness that circled the dais, bodies writhed, dancing in the shadows. Before him, a chair made from the roots of an alder tree sat empty, lit by two torches on either side.

On his knees beside the throne, Bruce’s hands were tied behind his back. His brown eyes catalogued every bruise and scratch on Clint’s body, green flickering around the edges of his corneas, but he didn’t move. A test, Clint knew, of their end of the bargain they’d made; Bruce couldn’t intervene or they’d forfeit any chance they had at surviving this ordeal. Still, the Hulk was a different issue; just how much he’d take before he broke was the wild card of the night. 

The cry was plaintive; she waved her hands and demanded attention, still carefully strapped into her infant carrier which rocked slightly on her own altar. A sensitive baby, Becca picked up on currents from her fathers and the people around her. Clint tried to tamp down on the shiver of worry and concern he was feeling. So much at stake, this little girl’s whole future. Why wouldn’t he be afraid?

A hand dragged across his back, and he shivered, bucking against the restraints. He still had time to back out of this, but there were no other options. Just how much was he willing to give for his family and friends? That was the question of the moment. And the answer was everything.

“Look at you, my little sacrifice.” Mab walked past him, her long, lean leg brushing his bare arm. “Are you ready to begin?”

**THEN**

“Hulk catch!” A green hand snatched at empty air where Clint had just been. The Big Guy was laughing, enjoying the game; they had covered every inch of the practice room, all the levels, at least twice in the last hour.

“Only if I let you.” Clint was three steps ahead, the Hulk telegraphing his moves. Grabbing onto a pole, Clint swung to the left, seemingly right into the Hulk’s path, but the green guy was already turning away by the time Clint landed on the platform. With another jump, Clint used the Hulk’s outstretched arm to get to the starting line first. A meaty fist wrapped around his waist and Clint was hoisted up in the air for a very wet, slobbery kiss.

“Got you!” Hulk crowed. Despite his size, he was gentle as he sat Clint back down. “Bath time for Becca now?”

“… data to crunch,” Tony was saying as they came into the observation room. “Hey, Cassandra. Serious speed there. Just don’t go foretelling my doom, okay? I want it to be a surprise when I die in the middle of sex.”

“Second time you’ve used that one, Tony,” Clint said as the Hulk waited outside in the bigger hallway.  “I kind of liked the Harry Potter one the best.” He looked up at the screen. “Getting better at it. Those are the fastest times yet.”

“Cupid escaped again. Now, no more buildings fall on Cupid,” the Hulk insisted.

New abilities took getting used to and there was no better way than putting them into practice. Clint never thought he’d be one of the “super” people; he was the normal human on the team, just a guy with a bow. But that really wasn’t true, hadn’t ever been; Clint’s eye sight had always been better than human and his accuracy approached the realm of impossible. Still, dealing with the changes that had been forced upon him meant changing the way Clint thought about himself. From the beginning of this whole journey to now, Clint could honestly say he wasn’t the same man who had woken up from Loki’s control to fight in the Battle of New York.

His contact with the tesseract had started the whole thing; as the tesseract began to gain sentience, she had reached out to Clint, gifting him with dreams that were more like prophecy, enhancing his innate skill to see patterns and make connections. She also left him marked by her magic and her protection. It was Robert Fisk, son of the Kingpin and leader of the Las Vegas H.Y.D.R.A. cell who injected him with nannites that forced cellular mutations to his natural abilities. One kiss on the cheek by a hired blonde in heels, an untested scientific procedure, and Clint could see in the dark and react seconds ahead of others.

Of course, it wasn’t that easy; Fisk had worked on General Ross’ standing hatred of Bruce to get him to do Fisk’s dirty work. Unfortunately, Ross, along with his daughter Betty and her friend Janet Van Dyne got caught in the crossfire. Too many people were hurt as the whole situation spiraled out of control, and Fisk himself turned out to be a front for an even bigger opponent. Myths come to life, beings from another dimension who once walked the Earth wanted back what they had lost when humans slammed the doorway shut, barring them access. Faeries, of all things, had a long term plan to create the perfect human hosts for their essences. Only pure dumb luck … or maybe the help of an angel and a trickster want-to-be king … protected Clint and Bruce from their attempts to inhabit their bodies.

And then there was Rebecca Barton, the baby waiting upstairs for her papa and daddy to put her to bed. Clint’s granddaughter, she had become the center of his world in two short months. He’d never imagined himself with a family, settled in an apartment taken over by baby stuff, a stroller by the door and a papoose sling for walks in the park. And yet, he wouldn’t trade it for the world, waking up beside Bruce in the early morning hours for that 5 a.m. feeding, the world just stirring outside the windows as he rocked Becca back to sleep.

“That’s right, no more catching your ass,” Tony agreed. “Can’t claim you didn’t see it coming.”

“Very funny.” The banter was old hat by now between them all. “Any change in ambient light? I thought there was a bit of a halo effect at the brightest level.”

“Less than .001, yes, but a slight difference.” Hank Pym pulled up the results on the screen.

“We can adjust for that with the new shades I’m working on.” Tony threw a schematic in the corner. “You’ll be able to wear them at night; they’ll adjust to various settings, ultraviolet, infrared. Seriously bad ass.”

“I have sunglasses.” Clint knew it was useless to complain; Tony expressed his emotions by buying and making things. The amount of toys daily delivered to their suite was dwarfed only by the new designs Tony showed them. Bruce had drawn the line at Becca’s own suit … with thrusters and repulsors … but they both knew that Tony was just as obsessed with Becca’s safety as they were.

“Not like these.  Google glass will be as out-of-date as Steve’s clothes. Straight feed from any database you need and DNA security. To anyone else they’ll be just really nice, better Oakleys. I’ll have a mock up in a couple days.” Tony never stopped moving, images flowing as he talked.

“We’ll test ‘em in here first,” Clint agreed because, really, that was the only way to handle Tony’s ideas. To understand Tony was saying that he cared. “See if they stay on when the Hulk tosses me.”

“Toss Cupid later; bath time now.” The Big Guy poked Clint in the back, pushing him forward.

“You want to stay big or shrink down?” Clint asked. As an answer, the Hulk changed, dropping down to slightly bigger than Bruce’s normal body. Fisk’s manipulation had given Bruce and the Hulk more control over not only the metamorphosis, but also made sharing memories easier. Bruce remembered, for the most part, his time as the Hulk, and the Hulk could tap into Bruce’s knowledge sometimes. Big was still the Hulk’s size of choice especially for smashing, but there were definite benefits to the smaller version, the primary being cuddling. Turns out, the Hulk loved being the little spoon as much as he liked being the big one. Two days ago, Becca had fallen asleep on the Hulk’s chest while _Tangled_ was playing, so Clint had curled his arms around the Big Guy and the three of them took a nice nap. Plus there was less wear and tear on the furniture and the building; the Hulk could go in any room and watch movies with everyone.

“That isn’t getting old,” Tony said. “Next up for study, the incredible retracting and expanding Hulk!”

Clint just rolled his eyes and headed to the elevator, leaving Tony and Hank to their data, thinking about just how lucky he was to have this crazy extended family. From the moment they’d brought Becca into the tower, they’d been inundated with more help than they actually needed.  So many surprises and unlooked for expertise. Phil Coulson’s unflappable calm extended to babies; he put Becca down for a nap, patted her back once or twice, left swing music playing quietly, and managed to get a good two hours of paperwork done. No squawking or fussing, the baby just fell right to sleep. Clint suspected it was Phil’s secret jiggling technique, the one he shrugged off and wouldn’t talk about.

The babysitting a teenage Steve Rogers had done made him the second most experienced person in the Tower; his pure joy when he held her was both amazing and amusing since it freaked Tony out to no end. Pictures were already on the internet of Steve jogging with her in a special stroller and, Bruce’s favorite, one of Steve in his Knicks hat with Becca strapped to his chest while they watched the game on the big screen.  Of all the pictures of these first days, Clint adored the one where Steve was passing Becca to Tony just before a board meeting; holding her at arm’s length to save his suit from spit up or drool, Tony’s eyes were on Steve, peering over the top edge of his shades, no mistaking the emotion there. The fact that Steve was gazing with awe at Becca only made the picture that much more beautiful.

But the award for unexpected expertise went to one Darcy Lewis, intern extraordinaire. When Jane and Thor went away for a two week super stealthy vacation at Tony’s private island that everyone knew about four days in advance, Darcy decided she needed something to keep herself busy besides spending the outrageous salary SHIELD was paying her now that Jane’s happiness equaled Thor’s good mood. With a seemingly endless supply of energy and the organizing skills of a four star general, Darcy swept into their lives and became the gatekeeper, calendar queen, and supply sergeant.   One downside to living in close proximity to everyone was constant interruptions and too many offers of help; Darcy made quick work of that, a handmade daily schedule mysteriously appeared on white board attached to the wall. With color coded dry erase markers, she ruthlessly handed out the blocks, marking them with little icons and smiley faces. Thor was a hammer, Phil a tie, Pepper a sexy high heel, Natasha a red hourglass, Steve a patriotic butt, and Tony a goatee (that took Clint a day or two to figure out). Family time ran the gamut from an arrow hitting a green heart to a bubbling beaker tattoo on a muscular bicep. Overall, Darcy was a blessing in disguise; he and Bruce now had time in the lab and the range, assured someone was staying with Becca they could trust as well as time together as a family where no one bothered them.

“Hey, boss man,” Darcy called as they came through the door. “Oh, Hulk! I put some new music on your playlist. I think you’ll like it. Songs to smash by.”

The baby burbled then laughed as Darcy made a silly face; Hulk reached out and Darcy handed her over without hesitation. He’d more than proven how gentle he could be with her. “Becca bath,” he announced. Blue-grey eyes turned his way, searching for his face with a smile. She already knew all three of them, recognizing her parents by their voices.

“Tony reprogrammed JARVIS again, lights and sounds that enhance intelligence or some such stuff.” She shrugged it off, her position on all the ‘make your baby smarter’ ideas perfectly clear.  “Don’t worry, we watched the _Muppet Show_ while she ate. She’ll be singing ‘Mahna Mahna’ in no time. Doing my best to teach her the finer things in life.”

“Nothing like the classics,” Clint agreed. He was raised on Bugs Bunny and sugary cereal and he turned out okay. This whole overprotective mode of parenting didn’t make a lot of sense to him, but he was learning to pick his battles.

“You’re off the grid until tomorrow morning. Bruce has a lab meeting first thing, and you’ve got another poke ‘n prod session with medical,” Darcy said as she gathered her things. “They think you’re a damn pincushion.”

“No cussing!” The Hulk was adamant about language; he didn’t care that Becca couldn’t understand what they were saying.

“Sorry, Big Guy!” Darcy just winked and tossed her bag over her shoulder as she left.

“Let’s get the show on the road,” Clint said to the Hulk.

Becca shrieked in agreement.

* * *

 

“Clear your mind and just let it go blank.”

Blank, blank, he could do blank. He meditated before, first with Natasha and then with Bruce, so he could manage it. But as he closed his eyes, his brain refused to slow down. So many connections to make, details that sent him racing down an increasing number of paths. Figure it out, understand Queen Mab’s goal, what the next move was, and keep Becca safe. If he could just relax, lose focus, see the bigger picture …

“You’re thinking too much,” Bruce said. Clint opened his eyes.

“This isn’t working.” He unfolded his legs and rolled up off the mat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Bruce replied “I would be surprised if the first method we tried worked. These things take time and every case is different.”

“Let’s be real here. Odds are the drugs made the connection between the Hulk and me possible.” Clint wandered into the kitchen and poured a cup of tea from the fresh pot. Dark black fragrant liquid filled to the brim and he smelled the spices before he sipped. Turns out, tea wasn’t just the fruity frou frou drink Clint had thought it was; he was pretty much addicted to mate teas and any type of chai. “And I’m not taking the chance of opening myself up to attack again, so that avenue is out.”

“Tests aren’t conclusive, but long term exposure to Julio Ochoa’s drug could cause addiction and affect brain function permanently.” Bruce sounded calm, but Clint knew he worried how much Clint already had already been given of the designer drug that allowed Mab’s people access to human minds. One of Bruce’s requirements before they started studying all of this was to take that option off the table. Trying to replicate the way the Hulk helped Clint heal was important, but it wasn’t worth putting Clint at further risk.

“We need to face the possibility Columbia was a one-time thing,” Clint said.

“Maybe we’re shooting too high. Studies show that parents, siblings, long term partners, and even roommates can sense emotions even when they have no discernible talent. They know what the other person is feeling, especially during highly charged moments. For example, a mother who senses her child is scared and wakes up in the middle of the night.” Bruce stood up and joined Clint, pouring himself a cup.

Clint stopped and thought about what Bruce was saying, his memory flashing back to the other morning. “Sometimes, during the 5 a.m. feeding, I get these little flutterings, like … butterfly wings in my head. Nothing distinct, but I can tell agitation from contentment.”

“When I meditate, I get something like that. Very, very faint,” Bruce admitted. “The Other Guy likes them. Do you think that’s …”

“Yeah, I do. Hell, she’s been appearing since the Tesseract incidence in my dreams/visions/whatever the hell we’re calling them today. And she was there when Xavier put the protection over her, remember?” Clint was sure; Becca’s grandmother had been psychic after all. Becca’s mother had been chosen precisely because she had a mutant gene. The fact that Clint hadn’t been there to save her from what happened next still stung. He failed his own daughter, one he never even knew he had. That dark thought wormed its way into his heart and lodged there.

“Quiet. Maybe that’s what we need. I know that during those early morning feedings, I’m half asleep.” As if to prove his point, Bruce yawned and stretched, rolling his shoulders.

“Asleep, that’s about the only time my mind slows down anymore. Or if I’m tired.” Clint was getting use to the accelerated pattern of images and ideas in his head, but it was a low background hum that rose and fell. He wondered if this was what Bruce and Tony felt like with science and numbers.

“That may be it.” Bruce stepped over to where Clint was leaning against the breakfast bar. “It took me years to learn how to be calm enough to enter a meditative state. It was always easier after the Other Guy had exhausted himself. Maybe we should try with Becca after you have one of your sparring sessions with Natasha.”

“Or,” Clint caught Bruce’s waist and reeled him closer, “after some really good, marathon sex. Get to that place in my head that only you can take me to.”

“And somehow it comes back to sex.” Bruce let Clint bring their bodies together.

“Always, Doc.” Clint dropped a light kiss on his favorite corner of Bruce’s mouth. “I’ll always want you.”

They took their moments where they could; between Becca’s schedule and their own, they almost had to make appointments, but they managed. Kisses felt stolen, like teenagers worried about getting caught, an ear out for sounds from the monitor and an eye on Darcy’s list. Hurried hands and whisper of skin against skin, they’d learned to be quiet and quick. Clint delved into Bruce’s mouth with his tongue, desire flashing to life, pushing him against the counter and rubbing along his thigh. There were still two more days until date night – Darcy had insisted on one night off a week for them and Clint was very glad to take it if they could – so Clint was more than needy right now. He barely got Bruce’s pants unbuttoned before he was on the floor, sucking in Bruce’s half-hard cock and nursing it to fullness. He knew exactly how to get to Bruce, the little twist with his tongue and the lightest licks along the slit. Ignoring his own cock, he worked, enjoying every twitch and aborted moan from Bruce, bringing him to the edge, then slowing down to bring him back again.

Just as he felt Bruce tense up, hands dragged Clint up for another kiss, and those long lean fingers tugged down his track pants until his cock was free. Wrapping his hand around both of them, Bruce pumped their cocks together with strong pulls. The kiss was searing and Clint fell into it, capturing Bruce’s face between his palms until his imminent orgasm over took him and he came at almost the same time as Bruce.

“Sirs, Captain Rogers is outside. Shall I ask him to wait?” JARVIS asked.

 “He’s right on time for Becca’s outing,” Clint laughed. “Give us a minute to get to the bedroom and then let him in. Tell him we’ll be right out.” They dashed in the other room and shut the door, quickly cleaning up.

“What’s on tap today?” Bruce asked. They’d started taking Becca out and about in the city, getting her used to traveling in her stroller and the carrier. Everyone had ideas of where to go; last time had been the zoo with Thor and Jane. Becca didn’t care about the destination, of course, but she was becoming acclimated to crowds and other people. Plus, Thor loved the animals; he bought Becca a stuffed lion for her room and an otter for Jane.

“Steve’s old school, so we’re going to the park. Pigeons and benches. There’s an art festival today. Maybe I’ll bring you back some ice cream.” Clint knew exactly what Bruce would say to that remark; he was so easy to poke fun of sometimes.

“No ice cream for Becca,” Bruce warned. “She’s still on formula to help develop her immune system. There’s all sort of chemicals in ice cream.”

“Two months is old enough for a taste,” Clint protested even though he had no intention of doing it. He just liked seeing protective daddy Bruce.  At Bruce’s look, he shrugged. “Okay. But at six months, I’m getting her a cone.”

Becca’s outings were quickly become so popular that she was booked up months in advance, Darcy taking reservations for holidays and special events a year out. Tony and Pepper were down for ice skating at Rockefeller Center and that was months away. Bruce had blocked out the dates of the new shows at the Hayden Planetarium; he claimed the lights and music were soothing, but Clint knew he hoped Becca would develop an interest in science. Natasha planned to take her to the NYC Ballet Company’s family day when they were hosting the Bolshoi; baby ballet was becoming all the rage. Steve had four dates for the Babies and Art series at the Met where Becca could see fine art and get her fingers into edible paint.

They tried to get her out of the Tower a couple days a week now that Tony had produced a stroller and a carrier he deemed worthy enough for his niece, as he’d taken to calling her. He even said that at his last press conference when a brazen reporter flat out asked if Becca was his love child with Jennifer Lawrence. Not that Tony’s answer mattered; everyone in the press was anxious to assume Tony had fathered her, usually with some famous actress or porn star, and that Pepper was the long-suffering girlfriend. The paparazzi were partially the reason they switched who was carrying her and who went out in public with her; a confusing set of pictures emerged as they all took their turns being Becca’s caregiver. With the official story that she was an adopted orphan, some of the more respectable outlets had already dropped the story, leaving only the tabloids and the worst of the photographers that hounded them. There’d been a long discussion about subjecting Becca to that type of scrutiny, and Clint’s argument that it was going to happen anyway so why not live as normal a life as possible had won out.

So Tony wheeled the Stark Stroller 1.2 into their living room just a week after they brought Becca back from Columbia. Relieved to see the carriage looked the same as the one Pepper had bought at the store, Clint wasn’t surprised to find Tony had incorporated suit technology along with some brand new items he’d just created. A privacy screen to foil even the longest telephoto lens. Titanium alloy metal frame that could survive everything but the Hulk smashing it. A brand new thin Kevlar fabric for the sides and the canopy that could stop bullets, flames, knives, and some explosives; it came in purple with green splatters. Even a mini-dashboard with JARVIS lite installed for video, communication, mp3s, and GPS satellite tracking. Bruce balked at the repulsors that made it fly, but with JARVIS as the pilot and the instant belting that would keep her strapped in along with the air canopy deployment, Bruce finally shook his head and gave in after multiple test runs that proved successful.

When Pepper came one day to take Becca shopping, she told them the scaled down version already had a waiting list of over 30 parents, mostly celebrities, politicians and other people worried about their child’s safety and willing to pay a hefty price tag. The new fabric was in Rhodey’s hands; the Air Force was claiming first dibs, but the rest of the military plus cops and other first responders were next in line. Probably not purple and green for them.

The sling carrier was also made of the new Kevlar. Clint had insisted on taking it down to the practice room and running through the paces with a fake baby inside. After that, Tony added straps in case the wearer was upside down and a flexible setting to turn sling into backpack. Steve preferred Becca strapped in on his chest, snuggled up against him, close enough to see her eyes and hear her attempts at sounds. After much discussion, Tony made a special model just for Bruce with the same stretchy fabric of the Hulk’s pants in the shoulder straps. Just in case.

The park was bustling as they wandered through. Artists mixed with jugglers, clowns and food vendors of all kinds. Families milled about, little kids running this way and that, harried parents chasing them. Lots of dogs barked, running free in the dog friendly part of the park, on leashes in other places. This was Steve’s New York, Clint thought. He always chose places that were iconic and simple. The heart of the city, where real people lived and mingled, not the tourist part of the Big Apple. Becca was fascinated by the sounds – she was too little to see all that well, but there was lots of color and movement to catch her eyes – and she turned her head every time a child squealed or a dog barked. She lasted longer that Clint expected before they found a quiet bench and took out the self-warming bottle -- patent pending for Stark Industries – for her afternoon feeding. Steve did the honors and then even changed her diaper on the plastic pull down shelf in the nearest men’s room while Clint stood guard at the door. Not long after, Becca slipped into sleep, nestled in the sling while they grabbed some ice cream before heading back to the Tower.

“Our tail still with us?” Steve asked. They’d picked up the tail after they’d left the woodlands and before they stopped to get hotdogs from a cart near the paddleboats. He wasn’t the stealthiest, his black hoodie pulled up and sunglasses shouting that he didn’t want to be noticed. That, actually, was the worst way to disappear in a crowd anymore; people paid more attention since hoodies had become the outfit of choice of thieves and gang. 

“Just crossing the street. You take Becca on through security; I’ll snag our mystery guy.” Clint half expected to find a camera in the man’s pocket, but he was prepared for something else. They’d headed to the secondary entrance rather than the private one so the cameras would pick up their tail. JARVIS could triangulate with the city and traffic cams and track him back to where he’d come from.

“I’ll get her to safety; JARVIS can call the others,” Steve said. “Wait for backup.”

“I’ve got this.” Clint pulled open the glass door for Steve to push the stroller inside. Following him in, Clint crossed through security and headed for the elevator banks. “I’ll double back and catch him.”

He had seven different plans for just this scenario; he’d already determined the tail wanted to avoid cameras. All Clint had to do was circle around and catch him in the alleyway across the street, the only place out of the reach of the lens that he could still watch the doorway. Over the roof of the nearby four story bank building, and Clint dropped down right on top of his quarry. In just two moves, Clint had the guy pinned against the brick wall and he yanked the hoodie off, revealing sandy brown hair.

“Barney?” Clint didn’t let his brother go, twisting his arm tighter. Too many strange events in his life to trust his eyes.

“Hey, bro.” Barney shrugged, or tried to at least. “How’s it hanging?”

“What are you doing here?” Clint could see the man’s face as he leaned in. The same blue-grey eyes, the scar just under his left earlobe, the mole on his neck – it certainly appeared to be his brother.

“Can’t a guy drop by to see his family without getting slammed into a wall?” He tried to joke, but there was an edge to his voice, one Clint knew all too well. Barney always did hate it when Clint got the drop on him.

“No. Not when you’ve been lurking around watching me and followed me home.” Clint let up and stepped back. Barney turned, slowly, rubbing his wrist. “You’ve got about two minutes before guys in suits show up in this alley to see what’s happening. I’d start with the truth, if I were you. How much do you need?”

“Aw, damn it, Clint. I’m not here for money.” Barney hung his head, embarrassed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d talk to me so I’ve been working up the courage to come see you. When I saw you in the park, I thought I’d do it but I punked out.”

“You came all the way to New York for what? To say hello?” As much as Clint wanted to believe that, experience was a harsh teacher. Barney always worked angles. Figuring how to turn a situation to his advantage was Barney’s worst habit. “Not sure I’m buying that, Barn.”

“Okay, look. I was out of the country for a bit, big job opportunity you know, and imagine my surprise when I went to get a drink at a little shithole cantina and saw my little brother with his bow, big as life, kicking alien ass.” Barney’s mouth turned up at the corners, a ghost of a smile. “The black suit is much better than the purple, by the way, even if it’s tight enough to show your junk off. And no sleeves? Really?”

“Remember what Buck always said about reaching everyone in the audience? Talent, skill and sex appeal.” Clint could hear the old man’s voice still in his head; some of his circus costumes were practically porn as he got older. “Black’s slimming.”

“If that’s what they’re telling you …”Barney snorted, and some of the lines around his eyes relaxed. “Truth is, I needed to relocate for a bit and, well, neither one of us has a very long life expectancy in our jobs, so I thought I might swing by the Big Apple and say hey.”

Clint wanted to believe it, but he knew his brother too well to just accept it. “We can do that. Come on into the Tower and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

“To all your rich friends? Yeah, not today, okay? I look like a bum. If I’m going to meet Tony Stark, I at least ought to put on my clean jeans. How about you and me grab a cup of joe?” Barney did exactly as Clint expected; he’d want to meet alone to make his case for whatever favor he was going to beg for.

“I can’t right now. Got a schedule, if you believe it.” Clint sensed that his friends were already here, Natasha waiting in the shadows, Steve just around the corner, and Thor on the roof top. They were all giving him his space to talk to his brother.  “How about tomorrow? I know a good diner not far from here. The cook makes a mean plate of pancakes.  Say 8 a.m.?”

“In the morning? When did you start getting up early? Always had to kick your ass out of bed,” Barney asked.

“People change. Here, I’ll put in the address.” Clint had Barney’s phone in his hand and he pulled out his own, tapping a few buttons on the Starkphone then tapping them together.

“Damn, you’ve still got fast fingers,” Barney groused as he pocketed his phone when Clint handed it back. “That hasn’t changed.”

“Just use the skill for a different reason now,” Clint agreed.

Barney turned to go, then stopped and looked back. “Hey, so, the big blonde guy, the one with the kid. You tapping that? Not your usual type.”

Of all the things they’d fought over – and almost killed each other over – Clint dating guys had never been one of them. Gays weren’t on Barney’s list of things that annoyed him. Just ungrateful little brothers who stood by their moral code.

“Nah, he’s just a friend. I’m living with a guy now, going to get married.” Clint watched the way Barney’s eyes didn’t widen. He just looked tired, his face settling into weathered lines at the news.

“I wouldn’t mind meeting him, if you want,” he finally said. “I’ll tell him embarrassing stories about purple spandex skirts. That’s my job, right?  Give him the shovel speech?”

The very thought of Barney warning Bruce struck Clint as funny for just a second before he realized how much he wished it was true. That he and Barney had that kind of relationship where Becca could have an uncle who’d take her to the circus and feed her cotton candy. ‘Cause that’s exactly what Barney would do.

“You got a place to stay?” Clint could help but ask. He wouldn’t put it past Barney to be living on the streets; money just ran through his fingers. “I know someone who has a place over in Bed-Stuy, owes me a favor. He’d put you up for a couple nights.”

“Nah, I’ve got a flop. Not much, but there’s a bed and a bathroom down the hall. Got enough blunt to see me through the end of the week and get me to the next job.” Barney pulled his hood back up. “See ya in the morning.”

Clint watched him go, hunched over, still hiding, an old habit that he’d never broken, and he wondered why Barney had shown up now, what he wanted, what he was after. Perception, Charles Xavier had told him, was a double-edged sword. There were times when seeing three steps ahead was a good thing … and times like now when the truth was difficult to handle. Barney wasn’t here for Clint; he was here because of Becca.

Nothing else made sense.                                                                                                                                                          


	2. The Land of Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce isn't certain if he trusts Barney Barton, but, so far, there seems to be no reason not to. But he absolutely agrees with Clint that this wedding isn't going off with a hitch. Question is, just who or what will speak and not forever hold their peace?
> 
> The Hulk, however, has this whole love, cherish, and honor thing figured out.

**NOW**

He could only watch as they tied Clint down, left him there to wait. They’d given Bruce a drug that made him sluggish, slowing his reflexes and his thoughts. Even the cold ground beneath his knees felt distant, his consciousness pulled away from his skin and buried deep. Like when the Other Guy was in control now, how Bruce could watch through a hazy veil, but he couldn’t control his own body.

The Other Guy rolled over, further down in the medicated sleep, and tried to kick his way to the surface. He could sense Bruce’s unease, the trickles of fear that this time they’d gotten in too deep. Could he really watch this? Mab, in her twisted sense of humor, offering them one way out, to keep Becca away from her forever, but the catch, the catch was Clint himself, trussed up like a pagan sacrifice for the bitch to use as she would.

The Hulk rumbled. _Protect Cupid._

_Becca. Your job is to keep Becca with you, don’t let her see, don’t them near her._ That was the Hulk’s role in this farce. In the safe place deep in the subconscious, the Hulk held their girl, cuddling her close. The last line of defense that even Mab couldn’t break through.

“Are you ready?” She asked, spike heels clicking on the stone as she trailed a hand along Clint’s naked back.

Blue-grey eyes sought him out, locked onto his face, creating the bridge between them for what might be the last time. They had no time left; the music had begun, Mab took her place in her chair, dropping a hand on Bruce’s head, lacing through his curls and tightening until the ends of her blood red nails broken the skin over his cheekbone, a droplet of blood running down.

“Good. Let’s begin shall we?”

**THEN**

“You are both bad influences, you know that?” Bruce asked. Not that he expected a straight answer; Tony just laughed and Steve shrugged with a slight blush on his face. “I should NOT be doing this.”

“Come on, Bruce. It’s not like you don’t have access and he said you could read any file you wanted, didn’t he?” Tony argued. Of course, he’d done far more than pull up the SHIELD files on Charles Barton, aka Barney. When JARVIS started flashing up video feed from security cameras around the city, Bruce should have drawn the line. But he didn’t.  Because, basically, he had a really bad feeling about the sudden appearance of Clint’s long lost brother, and the Other Guy was being pretty damn insistent inside his skull that they do something about him.

“Bruce, I honestly don’t think you’ve done anything wrong.” The fact that Steve Rogers, Mr. All-Around-Lawful-Guy was on board the whole ‘Barney’s a dick’ train was one of the reasons Bruce had gone from worried to actively doing something about it. Steve had been one of the people who’d overheard the conversation in the alleyway, and he’d come back with all kinds of doubts about Barney’s motives. Natasha was fiercely protective of Clint, so she was bound to take everything the wrong way where Barney was concerned. There was history there, Clint had explained; the one time Natasha and Barney had met face-to-face ended in bloodshed, Barney’s specifically, and an emergency room visit. She didn’t trust the older Barton brother, but then Natasha trusted very few people. Bruce wasn’t even sure if she completely trusted him; letting him get close to Clint was a sign of acceptance that put him in the second tier of those she let cover her back. He’d take that as the compliment it was.

Even Phil had been wary of Barney; he’d offered the best reasons to not believe Barney’s story. Phil had access to records that would take Tony hours to dig out, even some oral history that could have only come from people who knew the brothers growing up. He didn’t share any of the information, just said that they had to discover what Barney’s agenda was. Of everyone, Phil gave Barney the most credit for actually caring about Clint; there was just too much water under the bridge at this point for any type of détente between them. The best they could hope for was mutual avoidance of nuclear topics.

“Got him crossing the border … nine days ago. Fake passport, name of Roy Thomas. Location puts him near Nagoches, Texas.” Tony tossed the information up on the screen; another red dot in a line of sightings tracked back from New York City to the border. “Going to be harder to trace down there, but we’ve got a license plate of the car, probably stolen …”

“Actually, sir, that plate number is wanted by a drug task force out of San Antonio, Texas. It looks like the plate was moved among a number of vehicles during the commission of crimes,” JARVIS interjected.

“Drug cartels. Fits the pattern,” Steve noted. Everything they were learning about Barney pointed to a small time crook who couldn’t seem to make a go of things. He’d get involved in a job and never rise about the level of a common thug. Most of the time, he ended up skipping out after a string of failures, moving on to another town, another score.

“Bingo!” Tony slid a newspaper headline onto the screen. THREE WANTED IN ROBBERY GONE WRONG, the Sierra Vista Herald screamed. Below was a hazy picture from a security camera of men with guns inside a bank; the story went on to name the men wanted for questioning including one Gene Colan, aka Raymond Thomas who was thought to have fled across the border. “89% match with the man in the black jacket. Barney got himself into trouble and hightailed it to Mexico.”

“Question is, why come back?” Bruce mused. “Why risk it?”

“Money.” Tony shrugged. From his experience that was always the answer. Bruce wondered just how many people crawled out of the woodwork on a daily basis to ask Tony for a payout.

“He said he didn’t want any cash,” Steve said. “Said he just wanted to get in touch with Clint.”

“And if you believe that I’ve got some beachfront property in Arizona to sell you … someone already bought the London Bridge and moved it out there.” Tony flashed them both a grin.

“The London Bridge isn’t in the U.S., Tony,” Steve protested.

“Um, yeah, it is. Someone moved it stone by stone to Arizona.” Bruce hated to admit that; sometimes his fellow Americans made him a little embarrassed to call this country home. “But what most people think of as the London Bridge is actually the Tower Bridge and it’s still over the Thames, if that helps.”

“For the moment. I’ll buy it for you if you want.” Tony wiggled his eyebrows at Steve who just sighed and crossed his arms. Steve was getting very good at responding to Tony’s need to poke at sore spots. Of course, the sex wasn’t hurting; Tony was suspiciously close to being happy these days. No one said anything, too worried they’d break the spell and they’d get the old, grouchy Tony back.

“Did you notice how he stayed just out of range of the Tower security cams?” Steve asked, changing the subject to one of Tony’s favorites … his tech. “We have to rely on the less sophisticated street cameras.”

“Huh.” Tony looked again, pulling up the route from the park to the Tower. “You led him right into the main doors and he took a turn … here … and here … damn it, he knew exactly how far those sensors could scan. Look.” The overlay of the Tower security showed the way Barney had skirted the edges.

“Almost like he knew that JARVIS could look for more than just his picture, wouldn’t you say?” Bruce had a sudden knot in his stomach as he thought about it. “You added the new algorithm from the data we gathered on Richard Fisk while he was taken over by one of Mab’s minions didn’t you?”

“Damn, damn, damn. Genetics, of course. If Clint has a mutation that would make him a prime candidate for crazy bitch faery queen, then odds are Barney does too.” Tony’s fingers were flying over the keys. “Hair, blood, there’s got to be some sample somewhere on this guy. He’s been in the system many times over the years.”

“Yes, but we’ve just recently started collecting DNA samples.” Bruce wasn’t surprised when they were no data found.

“Then we get one ourselves.” Steve pushed up from where he was leaning against a table. “Aren’t you having dinner with him tonight?”

Clint had met Barney yesterday morning for breakfast; they’d had a civil conversation over short stacks of buttermilk pancakes, and Clint had come back conflicted. He absolutely knew that his brother was up to something, but he wanted to believe that there was a possibility of some sort of relationship, especially now that Becca was in the picture. Barney hadn’t pushed, didn’t ask for anything other than to meet Clint’s “main squeeze” while he was in town. They’d made plans to meet later today at Maggie’s, their favorite Italian place.

“Yeah,” Bruce said. The only way this would work was with Clint’s cooperation, and that meant admitting what they’d been up to this morning while he was at his meeting with Father Stephen. In fact, Bruce was due to meet with the minister in 45 minutes for his own individual interview. The priest had insisted that, along with their joint pre-marital counseling sessions, they each have one with him alone. It was his standard practice for all couples, not just gay/bi ones who happened to be superheroes.

“Do you think this could be about the wedding?” Steve asked as if he read Bruce’s mind. It wasn’t that hard these days. He used to think only about science and getting rid of the Other Guy for good. Now, Clint and Becca took up a chunk of his brain cells right alongside science and the rest of the Avengers family. Ironic, but he’d stopped looking for a way to end the Hulk, and instead was working on ways to coexist peacefully. And that was a word he never thought he’d use in terms of the Other Guy. “It can’t be coincidence Barney shows up right before.”

“How could he have known about it?” Bruce shook his head. “Hell, considering our luck, I was half-expecting someone to show up and shout, ‘I object’ during the ceremony. I still think we just go to city hall and forget the rest.”

“Natasha bought a dress, so I think that option’s out now,” Tony joked. “And Coulson’s in paperwork heaven, and you know what happens when he gets invested. But, even more important, Pepper is planning the reception. It’s going to happen.”

That made Bruce smile. He and Clint had wanted to just slip away and quietly get married; they’d been talking about it for months before Becca came into their lives. They had even made a couple stabs at it, but between General Ross and Julio Ochoa, plans had fallen through. Absently rubbing his ear, he thought of the earrings they’d picked out before the last aborted attempt, safe in a drawer in their room. Rings were impractical, tattoos were permanent – although they were still planning on doing that later --, but earrings were easy to remove.  And that made Bruce remember their do-it-themselves heated rush of vows before Clint infiltrated Ochoa’s compound … a very good memory.

“Look, we all know it’s about Becca,” Tony bluntly stated. “Barney avoided the scanners; my money’s on some faerie riding his ass right into the inner circle. That’ll be next, trust me; he’ll make a play for Clint or Bruce to get to her.”

“Xavier’s protection …”Steve started to argue, but Tony cut him off.

“Yeah, you can trust that woo-woo crap all you want, but I’ve looked at the brain waves and I’m telling you this is science based, not magic. We only use a tiny part of what we’ve got anyway … well, I use a lot more, of course, but, hey, everyone can’t be Tony Stark … and these guys, aliens, freakin’ faeries are tapping into the unused portions. Add naturally occurring mutant genes to the mix and you’ve got phenomenal power with an itty bitty living space.”

“Not just naturally occurring,” Bruce added, thinking of the experiments Fisk ran on Betty, her father, and others. “Forced mutations as well.”

“Proves my point,” Tony agreed. “These jokers aren’t _Midsummer’s Night Dream_ , they’re more _Space Odyssey.”_

Bruce hoped that Tony was right; dealing with advanced beings seemed more surmountable than magic wielding creatures of legend.

_Smash either_ , the Hulk said. _Doesn’t matter_.

* * *

 

“I wanted to ask you,” Father Stephen said, hesitating slightly, “if you’d be comfortable with me talking to the Hulk.”

Bruce blinked in surprise; he hadn’t been expecting this turn of events. They’d spent a nice thirty minutes talking about Bruce’s expectations of marriage, and his worries about his own ability to maintain a healthy relationship. Stephen, an associate minister at Grace Church Episcopal, knew them from their work with local orphanages; he was more than willing to perform the ceremony, but he told them no special favors. They had to go through the same counseling any other couple would be required to do. Still it was nice to talk to someone who was long past the ‘you’re the Hulk’ stage; Stephen was more likely to give Bruce grief for losing time in the lab and being late to an appointment.

“You want to talk to the Other Guy?” Bruce said. “Alone?”

“As Clint reminded me, he is part of this marriage, isn’t he?” Stephen smiled. “Not exactly my usual bailiwick, but I think I can handle the idea of a three-part relationship. And it’s not like we haven’t talked before. He was a big hit at the basketball tournament last year and the kids love Hulk Day at the park.”

“It’s just … I never really know what’s going to happen when he comes out.” And that was the problem. What if the Other Guy got angry with Stephen? Or, worse, didn’t want to answer the questions? Or said something to derail the wedding?

“JARVIS is available, correct? I’ll be fine Bruce. The Hulk and I are friends.”

He could feel the Other Guy nudge him, wanting to do it. Still thinking it wasn’t the best idea, Bruce took a deep breath and let the change happen, sinking back into his body as he handed control over. Not too far, though; staying conscious and watching was much easier now and would make the transition back in time to meet Barney smoother.  He could see Stephen’s eyes widen slightly at the seamless shift then when the Hulk didn’t grow too large so he could stay in the comfy chair.

“Well, that’s worth seeing once,” Stephen said with a laugh. “You can be smaller? I bet that makes a lot of things less complicated.”

“Hulk take elevator now. And not smash bedroom door.” He grinned, happy to be out and talking to someone he liked. “Oh, and bathtub. Hulk love bubbly bath.”

“I can imagine. I’d love to have a Jacuzzi tub myself,” Stephen agreed. He was completely unfazed by the conversation. “I just want to talk about you and Clint and Bruce getting married, okay? Make sure you agree.”

“Hulk love Cupid. Cupid love Hulk. Get married, always stay.” It was simple. The Hulk didn’t understand why so many people kept asking him about it. Were they confused?

“And Bruce? How does he fit in?”

“Little Guy part of package, Cupid says. Little Guy always part of Hulk. No Hulk without Little Guy.” That was simple too. As much as the Hulk didn’t like the way the Little Guy used to push him down and try to get rid of him, things were different now. The Little Guy sort of understood why the Hulk was here; he’d started letting the Hulk out to play with the others and watch movies and cuddle with Cupid and bathe Becca. And he wasn’t working on new ways to get rid of the Hulk any more.

“Yes, I understand that. I meant that Bruce loves Cupid … Clint,” the priest corrected himself. “Is that okay with you? Sharing?”

“Hulk have to share with Little Guy. Always.” He huffed at that, not happy but resigned to the fact. “But Little Guy and Hulk agree on Cupid.”

“That does make it easier, I admit.” Stephen shifted in his chair.  “What I want to know is what you think marriage means. I asked both Clint and Bruce already; I want to hear your answer.”

Taking a minute to really think about it, the Hulk thought he understood what the preacher man was asking.  “No leaving,” he finally settled on. “Sharing. Bed, rooms, food, games, stuff. Say sorry. Take care of, protect. Growing old.” He snorted a little laugh. “Push Cupid wheeled chair to beach.”

“Clint in a wheelchair?” Stephen sounded confused.

“Cupid jump off buildings. One too many one day,” The Hulk said.

Somehow Stephen deciphered that. “Clint is pretty reckless. And you’re okay with him getting old, maybe getting hurt?”

“Hulk get old. Hair grey.” No one seemed to realize that. Both he and the Little Guy weren’t going to be around forever either. “But now Cupid have Becca to think of. Not jump so much.”

“You like Becca?” The priest cocked his head, interested in the reply.

A silly grin spread across the Hulk’s face. Just thinking of the tiny baby upstairs made him very happy. “Becca’s Hulk’s girl. Hulk like bath time and singing and rocking. Becca little now, but bigger soon. Then Hulk play games and show Max and Mooshu and wanna build a snowman!”

Stephen worked with kids, so it only took a second or two to make the connection. “You’ve seen _Frozen_? I can’t imagine the Avengers at the movies.”

“Metal Head has big screen upstairs. Becca too small, but Hulk sing songs now.” He couldn’t help himself; the song had been stuck in his head for weeks. “Let it go, let it go, can’t hold it back anymore …”

A full throated laugh erupted from Stephen, and the Hulk stopped to laugh with him. “We are so having a Disney movie night with you someday. The Hulk Sleepover! The kids will love it.”

“Hulk bring popcorn. Hulk like popcorn,” he agreed, then he sobered and returned to the topic. “Cupid  papa. Little Guy daddy. Hulk big daddy. No one hurt Becca. No one. Hulk’s job protect. Always. Even when Becca big. Forever.”

“Well, Hulk,” Stephen said, patting him on the knee. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. I wish you’d teach some of the other couples I counsel just how simple it is.”

“Love. Protect. Always.” The Hulk nodded. That was all he needed to know.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Bruce asked. They were side by side in a booth in the back of Maggie’s, waiting for Barney to show up.

“We need to know if one of Mab’s people have taken him, so yeah. I’m okay.” Clint put his Starkphone on the table. Bruce’s glasses were fitted with special lens that would allow JARVIS the visual scanner he needed to determine if Barney was a host.  “It makes sense and explains his newfound serenity. Barney never could keep his temper and I’ve been goading him a lot. Between the DNA and the scan, we should know for sure.”

“You’re just going to hand over the swab and ask him for a swipe?” Bruce wasn’t sure that was the best approach, but Clint seemed determined to push his brother as far as he could.

“If he needs money, he’ll agree.” Clint shrugged. He handled this so easily. Bruce couldn’t imagine how much strength it took to sit across the table from the brother who’d left him for dead and abandoned him. Slipping his hand onto Clint’s knee, he squeezed. “I’m fine, doc. Really. I’m more worried about this being a feint by Mab to get Becca.”

The front door opened and Barney came in, hood up on his dark blue sweatshirt, but he tugged it down before he saw them. With a nod to the hostess, he headed back their way. His eyes darted around the room, checking exits, probably looking for surveillance, before they landed on Bruce. No recognition there, curiosity instead. Maybe the low profile was paying off after all. Bruce could still go out as himself and not be recognized most of the time.

“Hey.” Barney slid into the opposite seat, snatching up one of the breadsticks from the wicker basket before he’d completely stopped. “Smells good in here. Haven’t had good pasta in a while.”

“Maggie’s is the best.” Clint nodded to their waiter, Maggie’s nephew, and he brought over another beer for Barney, the same kind Clint had. Bruce had opted for red wine. “She’s good people.”

Bruce felt like there was a whole conversation going on that he didn’t understand; Clint caught his hand and brought it up on the table where Barney could see their fingers entwined.  With his other hand, he pushed his glasses up his nose and started the scan. Numbers appeared before him, flowing down the left side of his vision: blood pressure, heart rate, and a host of other data.

“Here.” Clint reached a long q-tip towards his brother. “I need a swab. Inside of your cheek.”

Barney’s eyebrows rose up to his hairline. “Seriously, bro? What’s this? You don’t know your brother when you see him? What do you think I am, a pod person or something?”

“Welcome to my world.” Clint didn’t flinch, just kept holding the q-tip. “Let’s see, doppelganger. Robot. Illusion. Astral projection.”

“Alternate universe,” Bruce tossed in.  “Advanced facial reconstruction.”

“Skrull. Golem. Shapeshifter …” Clint trailed off. “Yeah. Dude. I have to know for sure.”

“Jesus, Clint,” Barney said as he grabbed the stick and swabbed the inside of his mouth. “You live a freaking strange life.”

“Indeed.” He dabbed the end on the glass of his Starkphone; it lit up and began processing as he let go of Bruce’s hand to put the swab into a glass container and seal it shut. “Barney Barton, Bruce Banner. Bruce Banner, Barney Barton.”

A platter of antipasto appeared on the table along with three plates and more garlic bread. “Food should be right up,” their server promised as he darted away.

“Nice to meet you.” Bruce held out his hand and Barney shook it.

“So you’re the guy who’s going to marry my brother.” With a slow perusal, Barney looked him over from head to toe. Bruce could see his heart rate spike then calm as he bit into another piece of bread. “Closer to type than the blonde from the park, I’ll give you that, but not what I would expect. What happened to the bad boy thing you had going for a while? Or bad girl. Whichever. Hey, did Clint ever tell you about that set of twins from Des Moines? Teenage boy and girl and, dayum, but they had the most talented …”

“Shut up, Barney.” Clint leaned forward and gave his brother the evil eye. “Or I’ll tell him how old you were at the time.”

“… high wire act we’d ever seen. Completely unafraid of heights.” Barney sat back in his seat and popped an olive in his mouth as he winked at Clint. “How did you two meet?”

“In Peru, actually. Years ago,” Bruce offered. He was enjoying the banter between the two; there was no mistaking where Clint got his sass from now. It was a family trait. “He saved my life.”

“And you returned the favor later.” Clint gave him a genuine smile as he loaded up his plate with salami, mushrooms and olives.  “Many times over.” He leaned over and gave Bruce a kiss on the cheek.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” Barney complained.  “Let me get through the questions first. So, Bruce, can you keep my brother in the style’s he’s accustomed to?”

“Barney.” Clint put his head down. “Really?”

“Hey, I’m your big bro. It’s my job to make sure you’re taken care of,” he protested then turned back to Bruce. “You have a job right? College professor or writer?”

“Scientist, and, yes, I can keep him in arrows,” Bruce answered. “Not that he needs my help. Pretty good at doing that himself.”

“I’m getting nothing.” Tony’s voice was in Bruce’s ear; they’d both worn their earpieces so Clint was hearing him too. “DNA’s not back yet, and so far scans show a vanilla human with hypertension and some serious bone density issues, but no faeries. JARVIS will keep at it. And, yeah, I want to hear the twin story. Been thinking about getting a trapeze in the … unf.”  The transmission cut off and Bruce knew someone else had shut Tony down.

“Are you done?” Clint asked his brother.

“Nah, I got stories to tell my future brother-in-law. Maybe I ought to get started,” Barney replied.

“Here we go!” Maggie started passing out plates heaped with food. “Seafood primavera for Bruce, spicy sausage manicotti for you, and chicken alfredo for your guest.  The one you haven’t introduced me to.” She had the mother stare down; even Barney dropped his eyes when she looked sternly at Clint.

“Maggie, my brother Barney,” Clint complied.

“Brother.” She glared at Barney who had the good grace to look guilty. “I see.”

“Ma’am.” Barney dipped his head. “Food looks good.”

“Ummm.” She crossed her arms and stood there, waiting.

“Barney’s in town to meet Bruce,” Clint filled the silence.

“Yeah, yes, got to check out the man who’s marrying my little brother,” Barney said.

“Married? Excuse me?” If anything, Maggie’s look got colder. “What’s this?”

“It’s new?” Clint offered. “We sort of kept it quiet, you know, until it’s done. To avoid the tabloids.”

“Oh, those damn paparazzi. Pains in the ass, that what they are. That nice Mr. Stark was here with his handsome young man, and they blocked the sidewalk, harassed my customers. That nice Miss Potts too. They chase her … oh.” She stopped then put her hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “That’s why she put that order in! Bless her soul.”

“You didn’t think we’d have a reception without your tiramisu did you?” Bruce said. He’d been the one to suggest it to Pepper. After all, he and Clint had their first date here, even if they didn’t get to finish the meal, and they’d decided to start something together over a pan of the coffee dessert.

“So much for that surprise,” Tony said. “Not to interrupt the rose ceremony here but we’ve got mutant genes in bro’s genetic makeup. He’s definitely a candidate, but it’s still latent. I’m afraid we need to examine him more closely, as in get him to the lab.”

Clint sighed and Bruce knew what he was going to do; he nodded his agreement.

“Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag,” Clint said. “What are you doing Saturday evening, Barney? Want to come to a wedding?”

* * *

 

Bruce stared down at the sleeping baby in the dim light of the bedroom. Wrapped tight in a Disney babies blanket, her pink cap pulled down over her head, Becca was nestled between the soft foam wedges that kept her on her side.  Tiny breaths made her chest rise and fall, the sign that she was fine, just deep into her rest. Phil had put her to bed in her bassinet before they’d gotten home, Barney set to regale Bruce with all sorts of circus days’ antics as they worked their way through the food Maggie kept sending. She’d sleep now until four or five a.m., the long nap that was becoming night as she learned to stay awake during the day.

The tip of one finger stroked her cheek and she turned her head towards the touch, mouth pursing, looking for the bottle an ingrained habit.  The whole time at the table, Bruce’s thought had never been far from this little girl. He’d expected to dislike Barney or see through his veiled attempts to make friends and gain access. He thought Barney would make some effort to get information, ask leading questions, but he didn’t. At first he’d turned down the invitation to the wedding before grudgingly accepting it. If he was acting, he was much better at it than Clint had said he would be. Or, he was just what he seemed: a brother who’d fucked up and was trying to make things better. He’d been just a hair too loud, a bit too brusque, and definitely far too willing to drink and eat on Clint’s tab. Bruce simply didn’t know what to make of Barney Barton. Was he here for Becca? Or was he just here to mooch off his successful brother?

“Come to bed,” Clint murmured, slipping and arm around his waist. “We’ve got a good four hour window of sleep before she wakes up.”

He let himself be led into the master bathroom, the door shut behind them, lights still on low. “Are you okay?” he asked when Clint took off his shirt and tossed it in the hamper. If they kept their voices pitched fairly low, they could carry on a conversation without waking the baby. “JARVIS’s scans …”

“He’s not himself. I don’t care what the scans showed. He’s here to get access to the Tower; best thing to do is give it to him and see what he does.” He wiggled out of his jeans and reached for the sleep pants they kept in the walk-in closet. Having access to it through the bathroom was a lifesaver. Clint picked a green plaid Hulk pair; Tony made sure they all had licensed products. He thought it was funny to see Thor in an Iron Man hoodie and Steve in Hawkeye sweat pants.

“Clint.” Bruce put a hand on Clint’s arm and stopped him. The vibration in Clint’s muscles gave away his tension. “Maybe he’s changed. We can both admit it does happen on occasion.”

All the bravado disappeared, and Clint slumped back against the counter top, shoulders sagging. “Damn it, I want to believe that. Really, I do. But I accepted long ago that Barney was Barney. He’s not going to suddenly appear and be all ‘let me tell you how great things were when we were in the circus,’ Bruce. No matter how much I wish it were true.”

He didn’t say anything, just stepped in close and ran his thumb along Clint’s jawline and buried his fingers in Clint’s hair, still longer than normal. Tracing the silver band Clint had worn to agitate Barney and tell Bruce how much he loved him, Bruce waited for Clint to process his emotions.

“I can see it, you know. The way this is going to play out. Something or someone is going to stop the wedding because it’s a ritual that will only cement the protective bond around both of us and Becca. Barney might be a red herring to distract us from the real attack. There’s still the three moles out there and who knows how many others working on Fisk’s mutation acceleration process.” He leaned into Bruce’s touch and shut his eyes. “I don’t see how we avoid it.”

“Then we don’t,” Bruce said. “How do we use it? Prepare for the inevitable?”

Clint stilled and his eyes flew open. “Yes. That’s it.” He surged up and kissed Bruce hard on the lips. “You are smart, anyone tell you that lately, Doc?”

“Tony tells me every day. Not as smart as him, but brilliant nonetheless.” Bruce agreed, glad he’d said something that sparked an idea. “Not sure what I did, but, hey.”

“Explain later. Let’s get you out of those clothes so I can show you just how much I appreciate you.” Clint wiggled his eyebrows, going from worried to horny in record time.

“What did you have in mind?” Bruce certainly wasn’t going to turn down any of Clint’s ideas; he just hoped they could keep the noise down to a dull roar.

“A shower before bed?” Clint suggested, knowing the running water would drown out the sounds.

“We can do that”.

* * *

 

The beep signaled a new text message. She grabbed the phone and stared at the words on the screen.

_Delta 8432 Belfast, departs LaGuardia 6:02 a.m. Ticket at desk. Bring it._

Hands trembling, she hit delete and tossed the phone in the trashcan as she left the coffee shop. There was just enough time to pack a bag and stop by the place she’d hidden the items if she got lucky with the taxis. She’d have to double back a few times, make sure no one was following her. The last few days she’d felt an itch between her shoulder blades occasionally; they were on to her, she knew, but she just needed a little more time, another day or two. That’s all.

For a second she let herself feel the fear that was knotting her stomach and leaving her breathless. Then she shoved it away and flagged down the nearest yellow cab. In the back seat, as she headed to her first destination, she pulled up his picture on her phone and stared at the dark brown eyes, full of mischief and love.

_I’m coming, Brandon,_ she thought. _Momma’s coming to get you._

And she’d do what she had to in order to save her son.


	3. The Houses of Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a surprise for Clint, and the boys get a moment together before the storm hits

**NOW**

Never take any food or drink a faerie offers you. That was rule number one if you invade their territory. The fuzziness Clint was feeling gave testament to that truth. Whatever had been in the wine was working fast; his body was reacting without his brain’s consent, shivers running along his back. Much as he wanted to throttle Mab’s throat, he also needed to keep the long view in mind and that meant getting rid of the threat by destroying the door they planned on using.

With a wave of her hand, Mab created silence as she rose.  Tension hung in the air, a palpable sense of anticipation. Clint tried to keep his eyes on Bruce, but the woman, with her short red dress and raven black hair, commanded attention.

“Soon, my friends.” Her voice was as cold as a winter wind; it froze resistance and dulled the senses. “The way will be open and this world rich with resources ours once again.”

There was a roar from those gathered in the forest clearing; mostly hidden in the shadows, the aliens had taken the bodies of humans, most of them mutants with their own abilities.

“Tonight, we break the wards that have kept us too long away from our neglected flocks. We need only prime and ready the key.” Her eyes turned to Clint; that wasn’t a smile, it was smug surety. “Time to play your part, little bird.”

Two men stumbled out of the darkness, hands tied behind their backs, and were pushed down on their knees next to Bruce. Glazed eyes didn’t focus, but the light of the arc reactor shone blue amid the firelight. Tony’s head dropped down on his bare chest and only Steve’s shoulder kept him from slumping over.

“No. We had an agreement,” Clint protested. He remembered that distinctly; this was to protect his friends and family, not to get them even more involved.

“Of course we do. Your family is safe from our control.” This time, she did smile, and Clint’s blood ran cold. “But they’re not related to you by blood, my dear boy. Words matter. Now, which of these two fine specimens shall we begin with?

**THEN**

“Seriously. Eat, drink, be merry!” Tony shouted to be heard about the low thumping bass of the music. “For who knows what tomorrow may bring?”

Clint squinted and tried to bring Tony into focus, but the amount of fine quality tequila he may or may not have drunk … he’d lost count of the shots after Tony ordered the second bottle … was making it almost impossible to keep the thread of the discussion from floating away. Not that he was shit faced or anything; Clint still had his hand-eye coordination and could hit the target on every single shot, but he was feeling little to no pain.

This whole bachelor party had been Tony’s idea, although, surprisingly, Steve had agreed that one big blow out was the way to go, what with two bachelors and no bachelorette. At least Tony had gone upscale, renting out the private room at a very nice dance club and keeping the rest on the down low. Again, surprising; the only media interest in the evening had been derailed when Tony said it was a birthday party for the Avengers since they’d incorporated about a year ago, making their split from SHIELD complete. That got them a spat of retrospective stories and a nice below the fold piece in the _New York Times_ about how they’d actually caused less damage and maybe, just maybe, done more good than harm.  The anniversary knocked the stories about Becca out of the media cycle, so that was an extra side benefit as well. Unfortunately, it meant lots of paparazzi were outside the club with their cameras; thank God for back doors and alleyways. New Yorkers were cool about the whole ‘oh, gee, you’re a superhero’ thing; hell they’d just as soon tell you off for causing a rush hour traffic jam as chase you down and beg for an autograph. But those vultures with cameras were no less than stalkers, taking their pics with telephoto lens and around corners into every waking moment of their lives. The Hulk hated them and they kept a good distance now from Bruce after the ice cream incident not long after Bruce moved into the Tower. Sometimes Clint thought that was the way to handle it, with threats and some smashing.

Still, the subterfuge meant that no one was the wiser to the actual purpose of the evening which was, according to Tony, to get rip roaring drunk, bring on the strippers, and out do that movie The Hangover. No one else agreed with him, fortunately, so the chaos was kept to a minimum. Steve didn’t ride herd on Tony that was the best assassin’s job and Natasha only had to cock an eyebrow to cut off Tony’s craziest plans. She did agree to strippers as long as there was a mix of men and women to suit all preferences and that they could actually dance. That’s how they ended up with the most eclectic mix of music with aspiring ballerinas and Broadway stars clad in G-strings and pasties. Carol was quite taken with one dark haired young man who could be on hip-hop videos with his amazing moves. The superhero themed costumes were a nice touch, even if they had been embarrassed to learn who the guests were.

And then there was the food, all of their favorites from a variety of places, sushi right next to curry bites and a big pan of empanadas.  Finger foods that went well with alcohol to keep their stomachs full; the dessert table looked like something from an old fairy tale about a witch with a house made of candy. Clint justified eating a bit of everything because he was dancing so much his feet hurt. His jacket was long since discarded, sleeves rolled up and shirt half unbuttoned, the latter mostly Bruce’s doing; buzzed Bruce meant handsy Bruce, not that Clint minded one bit. Tonight he felt like an adult again, remembering what it was like to go out and not have to worry about getting home for feedings or bedtime. He was still worrying about Becca, of course, but with Phil Coulson and Melinda May on night guard duty, Clint figured Becca was as safe with them as she would be with Bruce and Clint at home.

“Don’t jinx it, Tony,” Steve said. He tugged Tony back down when he tried to stand up and weaved in place; Tony landed on his lap and grinned, probably planning the whole thing to end up there.

“Aw, come on Steve. We all know that the odds of this going smoothly are slim to none. When’s the last time we heard from old Metal Mask Doom? And the Little Shit has been conspicuously absent lately. It’s all freakin’ faeries right now and even they’ve been on a vacation. They are just waiting for the worst possible moment to come out of the woodwork,” Tony argued.

“I’m sorry,” Steve yelled Clint’s way. “Not very comforting thing to say out loud, but we’re all thinking it.”

Clint shrugged. “Hey, if that’s true, then we know how to find them. Just have a special event to trap them into showing themselves.”

“Exactly!” Tony declared. “We catch some bad guys tomorrow, we can set another date on the calendar and make them come to us!”

“What do you have in mind?” Clint poked Tony in the side and winked at Steve. “Engagement party? Maybe even another …”

“Not funny, Merida.” Tony cut him off. “Don’t even go there.”

“Really Tony? We can’t even talk about the possibility?” Steve gave his most innocent, hurt look; Tony almost bought it, but then he punched Steve in his muscled chest.

“Stop it. I’m not buying that all-American boy act anymore. I know just how kinky you are in the bedroom, Cap. Would you like me to share with the class?” Tony arched an eyebrow; Steve just laughed and spread his arms along the back of the bench.

“Go right ahead, Tony.  I don’t think you’ll surprise Clint with anything you have to say.”

True. As one of only two people who remembered the Avengers dream journeys through alternative universes, Clint knew all sorts of things about people. Like the fact that Steve had a thing for threesomes and might even be interested in a foursome if the Hulk would agree. So far, they’d kept the knowledge between the three of them, Steve, Clint and Bruce, but Tony was very suspicious about what happened in everyone else’s dream worlds.

“Hey.” Bruce leaned over the table until his mouth was close to Clint’s ear. “Tasha said she’s heading back to the Tower and can give us a lift if you’re ready.”

“Sure, Doc. Let me just find my jacket.” Clint slid out and rooted through the pile of coats and clothing on a low chair.

“You’re not going already? You’re the men of the hour!” Tony protested.

“Got things to do tomorrow, dude.” Finding the grey two button blazer, Clint put it on. “You two have fun without us.”

“I see how it is. You’re going to have some wild animal unhitched sex while you still can,” Tony said, shushing Steve when he started to say something. “No, no, I can respect that decision. It’s what I’d do the night before I hooked up to the old ball-n-chain.”

“Seriously, Tony? Ball and chain? You think so highly of the institution of marriage,” Clint said.

“I do. And I know I’m far too screwed up to make it work. Just going to have to watch from afar as you two shining examples of monogamy make a go of it.” A balled up cocktail napkin was all Clint had to throw; he hit Tony right between the eyes.  “Hey! I’m being honest and open here!”

“Have a good night,” Steve said. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Leaving your own party though,” Tony started to protest. All Steve had to do was slipping his arms around Tony’s waist and rest his hands on Tony’s thighs. “Yeah, right, off you go. Enjoy your last fling.”

It took another fifteen minutes to leave, extricating themselves from drunken hugs as they made their way to the exit and the waiting cab that Natasha had flagged down on the corner. Completely buzzed, Clint enjoyed the cool of the evening and the warmth of Bruce’s body as they slid into the back seat. He made no bones about curling up into Bruce’s outstretched arm.  Just as he got comfortable and felt his eyes begin to grow heavy now that he was sitting still the cab came to a halt and Bruce was getting out, tugging Clint with him.

“This isn’t the tower.” Clint glanced at the uniformed man who held the door open for them as they entered into a small but elegant lobby. Swiping a keycard and entering a code to call the elevator, Bruce gave one of his enigmatic smiles.

“Nope.” Bruce put his warm hand the small of Clint’s back and urged him into the car once the door opened.  No canned music, just a smooth rise through the floors as Bruce swept the card again and pushed the highest button.

“Okay,” Clint went on the offensive; if Bruce wasn’t going to give him any answers, he had his own ways of making the man talk. Sliding his hands into Bruce’s jacket, Clint tilted his head and brought their lips closer, stopping just short of a kiss. “Come on, Doc. Share with the class.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Bruce replied, but he didn’t hesitate to cross that last distance for a quick kiss.

“Not with these guys it’s not.” He tossed back the line from The Mummy and went for it, pressing his lips to Bruce’s just as the car slowed and the elevator’s door opened.  In front of him was a square entryway, a set of double doors, and yet another security entry pad. “This isn’t a hotel.”

“Corporate rental,” Bruce explained. He opened the doors and let Clint go in first. “Better security and easier to hide with maid service and food delivery. I just checked in a day early. You didn’t think we were going to spend our wedding night at the Tower, did you?”

“I still can’t believe no one figured it out. Just the four of us at the rehearsal? Right.” The plan was elegant in its simplicity; a simple ceremony with Father Stephen, Natasha, and Phil earlier and tomorrow they would have a bigger shindig for everyone. And, if something happened like Barney Barton or Queen Mab, it didn’t matter; they were already married.  “I thought for sure Tony would …”

He stopped talking. Even with the alcohol in his system, or maybe because of it, he knew this place. The décor was all wrong – black leather, silver, clear table tops – and it was far too modern for his taste – exposed ductwork, solid white walls, blonde wood floors, black metal cabinets – but this was the home in his head, the place where he retreated time and time again. The view through the wall to ceiling windows was picture perfect, the lights of the city aglow, Avengers Tower framed on the far left.

“Clint?” Bruce asked and Clint realized he’d come to an abrupt halt, blocking the way.

“Change the walls to exposed brick, the floors to mahogany, the cabinets to redwood, add a big island …” He could see it all, right down to the desk overflowing with papers and the comfortable sofa.  “This is it. Not yet, but can’t you see Becca’s art on that fridge?”

Bruce blinked, looked again, and huffed in surprise. “Well, so much for being observant. In my defense, I was distracted by planning a perfect wedding night.”

“Ha, more like you were thinking of my perfect ass being yours.” The place made Clint feel warm and tingly; long term plans used to be so foreign to him and now the future was literally around him and that was damn sexy. Hell, he knew things could go south at any second – he jumped from buildings and fought giant robots for a living – but the possibilities stretched before him and he was determined to take what was being offered. Hopefully, that included a naked Bruce Banner in the bed he could see the edge of through the open doorway.  He sauntered that way, more than willing to find out what Bruce had planned. He tossed his jacket on a chair by the door and unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging out of it next. Stopping when he realized Bruce was standing and waiting, he asked, “What? It’s in the wedding night rules. Get naked, have wild monkey sex, drink champagne … do we have champagne? I’m okay with whiskey if we don’t.”

Bruce’s slow sultry smile did things to Clint’s libido. “Don’t’ let me stop you.”

Taking that as his cue, Clint toed off his shoes and unbuckled his belt, sliding it out the loops. He could feel Bruce’s eyes taking in every move, so he slowed down, thumbs running under the waist of his pants and dragging along his skin. Brown eyes darkened as he unlatched and unzipped, letting them slip lower, teasing, revealing the line of hair that dwindled down.

“Commando? In that suit?” Bruce asked, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

“Hey, no lines.” Clint shimmied out of them, stepping out and bending over to pick them up, showing off by stretching as he stood back up. His cock was starting to harden just by Bruce’s gaze alone. “Well? Going to keep standing there?”

“You could get on the bed.” Bruce nodded that way, crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb.

“You’re up to something.” A slow smile spread across Clint’s face. That was Bruce’s ‘I have a plan’ face. Good things always happened when Bruce came prepared.

“Bed.” A little bit of the Hulk rumble slipped into Bruce’s voice and made Clint shiver.  Complying, he crawled into the middle of the king-sized mattress, crossed his arms behind his head and wiggled his hips.

“Ready, Big Guy. Do your thing.”

Bruce walked to the bedside table and opened the drawer. “You always trusted me, from the very beginning.” He laid out a tube of lube on the pillow. “I’m not sure you understand how much that means to me. To both of us.” Some scented massage oil was next. “When you let me go in Peru … well, that was very important to me.” Length of leather with a snap, a cock ring. Oh. So Bruce had that in mind. “A level of trust that I needed right then to believe I was worth saving.” A rectangular black box was next. Clint eyed it, but Bruce left it closed. “Roll over and let me show you how much you mean to me.”

He did, resting on his folded arms, turning his head to see Bruce slip out of his clothes and clamber back onto the bed. Straddling Clint’s body, Bruce dribbled some of the oil over Clint’s back and began spreading with his hands, strokes that grew in intensity, harder and more thorough as he started kneading the muscles, working out the kinks, relaxing Clint further.

“I was about to give up, you know? Let them take me. I was tired of running, being alone. I didn’t think there was another option available and I never dreamed I could have something like this.” As he spoke he kept working and Clint felt all the tension seep out of him as those fingers located each spot, delving deep to release it. “Then there you were, flirting with me, watching me without judging me, protecting me and there was another choice, maybe, just maybe, people who would help me and not try to destroy me.” His hands were on the small of Clint’s back, knuckles in the pressure points, wringing little groans from Clint’s throat. “That’s why I came back with Natasha; she asked for me, not the other guy, even though I knew she wanted him too. And I knew you were part of SHIELD.”

“Doc,” Clint breathed the name. “And here I thought you wanted to help save the world.”

“That, too.” The growing weight of Bruce’s cock rode along the crease of his ass, moving as Bruce moved, sliding easier after Bruce oiled that area up as well. “Tony was right about suiting up. I needed someone to tell me that.”

“The Big Guy needed to hear it too,” Clint agreed. “To know that he had friends and people who loved him. Too many others sold him short.” Riding on the alcohol and the perfect wave of relaxation, Clint let himself drop into what was almost a light trance, the world narrowing to the points of contact between their bodies and Bruce’s words.

“I remember now, how the Hulk found you after the battle. He always knew, from the very beginning.” His thumbs ran down that crease of Clint’s ass and brushed over the tight circle. “When you told me he shared his pretzels with you, I realized he wanted you as much as I did.”

“That’s the irony of it all.” The lube was cold at first but Clint was too languid to react as Bruce breached the muscle with first one thumb and then the other.  “I didn’t see you coming, either of you. Too caught up in my own mess. Me, the one who sees better than 20/20 and you were a surprise.”

“Yeah, well, we can both be messes together,” Bruce murmured, his thumb all the way in. “You’re so lose and ready; I should ply you with alcohol and massage you more often.”

“Every damn day, Doc.” Clint whined when Bruce’s hands left him. “Never thought I’d be on a regular schedule of really good sex. That helps ease the way.”

“True.” Bruce reached for the black box and flipped the lid open. “Let’s test that, shall we? Empirical evidence is needed.”

“What is that?” Clint started to push up on his elbows, but Bruce’s hand on the nape of his neck pushed him back down.

“Special order, just for you.” He lifted the purple silicone toy up and showed it to Clint. “Variable speed and size, comfortable for long term wear, hands free with remote.” Slicking it up, Bruce brought it in line and Clint felt the first bump of the cool head against his skin. “Smallest setting to start, okay?”

Clint hummed his agreement, a spark of excitement waking him from his massage induced stupor. “Mixing kinks are we, doc? Or do you just like the gift I bought you that much?”

“You seemed to be having so much fun I thought I’d give it a try.” Slowly, stopping to wait for Clint’s body to adjust, he pressed it in until the flared end was flush against Clint’s skin. “God, you look gorgeous,” he said, spreading Clint’s cheeks with his fingers to get a good view of his handiwork. “Oiled and ready for me to work my wicked wiles on you.”

“I happen to love your wicked wiles, you know.” Clint shifted a little, getting used to the fullness of the foreign object. It wasn’t nearly as big as Bruce’s cock – especially when he was half shifted to Hulk size – so it wasn’t at all uncomfortable, just odd. “You have the best ideas.  Never would have imagined that beneath that mild mannered exterior was a hot, no holds barred sex god.”

“Yet another thing I love about you.” Bruce leaned over and kissed his favorite spot behind Clint’s ear. “Always thought I was abnormal in my desires, at least according to others and their reactions. You, however …”

“… want whatever makes you feel good. Trust me, if I don’t like it, I’ll tell you. But so far, hell yeah, bring it on,” Clint finished the sentence.

“So glad you feel that way.” Bruce chuckled against Clint’s skin. “Let me know if it gets to be too much.”

A low vibration worked up his spine, an undercurrent, not too much, just enough to loosen his muscles even more. “That’s good,” he told Bruce.

“Roll over,” Bruce whispered. “Let me work on your front.”  He shifted to the side and Clint flopped over, the movement jostling the toy; it pressed a different way and Clint exhaled at the low level jolt it gave.  Bruce only grinned and reached for the leather strap; more gel, and he was stroking Clint’s cock, a delicious friction that only made him grow harder. With practiced ease, he snapped the strap tight. Then he started working on Clint’s chest, finding the knots and breaking them up with his fingers.  Cocks absently rubbed together as Bruce reached for Clint’s shoulders, and Clint moaned at the touch.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? Right here. Drive me crazy with need?” Clint asked. It was moot point; he loved every second on Bruce’s torment. He always would.

“Maybe,” Bruce easily agreed. “Or maybe I’m the one who’s going first.”

The tenor of Bruce’s touch changed then, no longer a massage but more sensual, just the tips of his fingers grazing along the line of hair that ran from Clint’s belly button down to his straining cock. He wrapped the hand around both of their cocks and started a slow rhythm as he hit the buttons on the remote with his other hand, upping the power of the vibrator and increasing the size just enough to push against his inner walls.  Clint gasped, the sensation making his hips buck up into Bruce’s fist.

“Oh, oh, god, yeah, that’s …” Clint stopped talking when Bruce twisted his hand; a flush crept up his chest as the pleasure built. Bruce kept the pace and Clint began to feel the burn in his gut.

“That’s it,” Bruce breathed.  “Lose control for me. Just for us.”

The constant stimulation was stripping away Clint’s inhibitions, not that he had many to start with when it came to Bruce and the bedroom. He had no problem asking for what he wanted and letting Bruce take charge. “More,” he begged. “Give me more.”

Bruce didn’t answer, moving up Clint’s body, until he reached back and held Clint’s cock steady, his body poised above. Then he changed the setting again and Clint bucked up, unable to focus on anything but the motion of the plastic inside of him. The toy shifted and, as Bruce played with the variations, it was pressing right against his prostate, dancing a little pattern of repeating beats. Clint fought the wave of pure need that almost blacked out his brain, riding on the waves of pleasure that were bombarding him and the almost painful ache in his cock. Just then, Bruce slid down onto Clint’s cock, slowly easing Clint past the tightness, taking him in.

“Wait, did you …” Clint couldn’t seem to make a sentence. “Sneaky bastard.”

“Nothing wrong with being prepared,” Bruce said, leaning forward, straightening his legs out and resting on his arms. His face was hovering above Clint’s, so familiar and so beloved that Clint choked on the emotion that rose in his throat. “Now, let’s see about me coming first, shall we?”

Taking control, Bruce set the pace, varying the speed with the remote to match his slow then sharp motions. Clint groaned and thrust up, each time jostling the toy as he did. “Damn it,” he moaned.

“Don’t worry,” Bruce breathed and clenched down tight. “I’m not going to last long. Watching you dance tonight, knowing that we were coming here and imagining how you look right now. Wasn’t sure I was going to make it this far.”

“Thought you … would want … to fuck me.” Clint’s hand wiggled between their bodies; Bruce lifted up to give him room to take hold of his cock.

“Always.” Bruce stopped to shift his knees for better purchase on the bedspread. “But tonight … Oh, God … I’m sharing … Clint, yeah, just like that … going to let … Fuck.” He came, the warm liquid spurting between them before he rolled off and onto his back. Flicking the switch, he turned the vibrator off.

Still hard and aching, Clint dragged in a few deep breaths to calm his over anxious libido. “So a hand job or a blow job wouldn’t be turned down right about now,” he said.

“Give me two minutes.” Bruce was off the bed and in the attached bath. He came back with a wet towel and wiped them both down. “As I was saying, tonight I thought we’d try something new. All of us. The Other Guy … the Hulk. He wants to ride along, if that’s okay?”

Clint pushed up on his elbows, hissing as his cock rubbed against his thigh. “I didn’t think the Big Guy was interested in sex; he’s more of a cuddle hound.”

“True, it’s just that he talked to Stephen and, well, he’s got this idea that the three of us should do this together, being our official wedding night and all. I think Tony said something about consummation, some stupid story about waiting outside the door to the bedroom …” Bruce sat on the edge of the bed. “Anyway, with my fast recovery time and a little help from the new toy, well, I thought you might be up to trying?”

He looked so uncertain that Clint stroked a hand over his back, calm and sure. “I’m not going to say no, Doc. Just making sure the Hulk knows what he’s getting into.”

Green curled up Bruce’s arms, across his chest, leaving swirls of color interspersed with Bruce’s normal skin tone, a mixture of the two. Brown eyes shifted to green as he grew, his cock stirring and hardening as well as getting bigger.

“Hulk know. Want to make Cupid feel good. Make Cupid mine and Little Guy’s. Metal Head said important. Can’t undo I do after.”

“Aw, Jade Jaws, that’s sweet, but very old fashioned. But far be it for me to turn down some Hulk sex. You going to let Bruce be with us too, right?” Clint asked.

“I’m here.” Bruce’s brown eyes were back. “He’s going to watch and let me do the heavy lifting.”

“Excuse me? Are you suggesting I’m fat?” Clint started to punch him but decided to pull him down on the bed instead. “Heavy lifting, my ass.”

“That one’s too easy. Not going to touch it.” Bruce’s hand slipped between Clint’s legs and tugged the ring on the dildo.

“That’s too bad because I have a great ass.” To emphasize it, he lifted his hips up and wiggled. Bruce, with a wicked grin, pulled the out toy out without warning. The size amazed Clint, not as large as the half-hulk size Bruce was now, but much bigger than when they started. Dropping it over the edge onto the wet towel on the floor, Bruce slipped two fingers in without resistance, picking up the lube with his other hand. With a long groan, Clint looked up, eyelids half closed and ran a hand along Bruce’s arm. “Feeling empty now, Doc. All nice and stretched and ready for you.”

“Clint.” Bruce murmured his name against his lips as he kissed him, slow and long and deep. All his jokes slipped away beneath the onslaught of such a caring, romantic touch. “I love you so much. We love you.”

Even as prepared as Clint was, the inexorable push of Bruce’s slicked up cock took him to the edge, almost painful, but not quite, just this side of hurt, right into an exquisite pleasure. He always liked this, the spread and opening for Bruce, letting his body give way so this man he loved … his husband … could make them both feel so good. Looking up into stormy eyes that were shifting between green and brown, Clint thought he was going to burst with the pure emotion of the moment. And here he was, thinking like some sap in a romance novel, filled with the intense joy that this, this was his, always, forever, however long they were given.

“Cupid okay?” The Hulk asked, concern crossing his face when Clint grimaced and exhaled at the pressure.

“More than okay. Good, very good, Big Guy. Keep going; the best is yet to come.”

Bruce liked it slow, taking his time to accelerate the pace of his thrusts; the Hulk had no patience, snapping his hips and lifting Clint’s hips effortlessly off the bed until only his shoulders and arms had purchase to hold on. Bruce stopped to kiss him again and again, flush inside of him, tiny little rolls of hips rubbing along Clint’s more than ready cock; the Hulk wrapped Clint’s legs around his waist and Clint’s arms around his shoulders and moved Clint’s body with his hands, up and down, until Clint was begging for more and to come and to never, ever stop. Bruce laid him back down, breathing his name, unsnapping the cock ring just as he was losing the rhythm and dropping his forehead on Clint’s chest; the Hulk roared out his climax as he came, head thrown back, hand pumping Clint’s cock in harsh, fast strokes that worked all to quickly to bring Clint to his edge and over.

Sprawled out with Bruce between his open legs, Clint wrapped his arms around the Hulk and held on through the aftershocks and tremors of the intense orgasm. He ran his fingers through the Hulk’s hair, traced the lines of Bruce’s shoulders, and got his own heart rate under control. “You okay, Big Guy?”

“Hulk more than okay.” A goofy smile spread across his face. “Hulk see why Little Guy like not dancing.”

“Not dancing?” That was a new one, but it didn’t take much to figure it out. “Yeah, sex is not dancing, that’s for sure.”

“Cuddle now?” Damn if the Hulk didn’t wiggle his eyebrows just like Bruce did when he was being suggestive.

“Clean up a bit and then, yeah, I need some sleep before the next round of not dancing.” Clint patted the Hulk on the back; he huffed in displeasure and snuggled closer.

“Hulk happy. Hulk love Cupid. Little Guy love Cupid.” He paused, obviously thinking. “Hulk love Becca too. Cupid check on Becca. Call Suit and Lady Ninja?” Rolling off Clint, the Hulk padded over to Bruce’s clothes and threw his phone on the bed. “Hulk clean. Cupid call.”

Becca was, as expected, sleeping, Melinda assured them. The Hulk insisted on JARVIS showing them a remote feed before he was satisfied and ready to go back to bed. Curling up together, Clint on his back and Bruce on his stomach, half on top of him, Clint, achy in the best kind of way and completely content, closed his eyes and started to drift off.

“I love you,” Bruce murmured.

“Love you too, Doc,” Clint replied. “And you too, Big Guy.”

“Hulk love Clint too.”

* * *

 

“You understand your role tomorrow?”

He hated the bitch. If he could, he’d kill her with his bare hands, squeeze the life out of her and watch as she breathed her last. But that wouldn’t help; she’d just find another body and Barney would be right back where he started, trapped in her control with no way out but to hand over his brother. As much water as there was under the bridge between him and Clint, Barney didn’t want Mab to win that much more. Maybe he was starting to believe the psychobabble bullshit she was making him spout, but he’d actually had a couple moments where being with Clint reminded him of the old days, when it was them against the system.

“Yes,” he answered. Make her work for more than that, he thought.

“Yes?” She arched an eyebrow and tapped one blood red fingernail against his face.

“Yes, your majesty,” he hastily amended.

“It is of vital importance that this ancient ritual not be completed, you understand? A stronger bond will be that much harder to break; your blood will no longer suffice.”

Oh, he knew exactly what was up. If Clint got married, the bitch wouldn’t get to set up her little operation without massive bloodshed. Without an I Do from Clint, she’d only have to slit his throat … and Barney’s too, of course. He certainly wasn’t stupid enough to not see that he was expendable like a disposable tissue.

“Good,” she said when Barney nodded in response. “Although, I must say I had hoped you would resist more. I miss our time together.” The nail broke the skin, carving a red line under his cheekbone. “Maybe we’ll just play for a bit, shall we? A queen has appetites.”

Biting his tongue, Barney shut his eyes and tried to not hope that maybe she’d just end this now, once and for all. The world needed Clint Barton, Hawkeye, Avenger; the only one who needed Barney was this bitch and he’d love to deny her the satisfaction of winning.

 

 


	4. The Siege of Gondor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mab's plan is revealed ... and the wedding interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being so long to get this chapter out. I hit a massive block and just couldn't get around it. I had to finally let go of the "NOW" and "THEN" structure I was using and just write the scene. Once I did that, I was able to get back in Bruce's head and move the story along. 
> 
> Knockmany Forest is a real place as is the hotel mentioned in the story. It looks gorgeous. Visiting is on my bucket list now. :)

It was all too much, really. The Other Guy was rumbling inside his head at all the hullaballoo, people running in and out and caterers and florists and … when the hell did this get so out of control? Oh, right, when everyone else found out and they all wanted to be part of the ‘big day’ despite Bruce’s every protest. At least they’d kept the guest list small, twenty or so people, but did they really need to have wagyu beef and serrano ham and fresh tuna flown in from out of country?

He straightened his tie – no tuxedo, he’d drawn the line there and Clint had backed him – and caught his reflection in the mirror. Green flashed in his eyes, his shoulders were hunched over, drawing him in on himself. Sweat beaded along his forehead as he struggled to keep the Hulk from making his presence known; the flight impulse was very strong right  now and he might end up in the middle of a forest somewhere, big and green and way too upset.

“Not too late to call it off, is it?” he asked Hank, his designated wingman for the evening. Everyone else was off dealing with last minute details, and Bruce had nixed the idea of Tony, knowing he’d either poke Bruce to see if he popped, or they’d end up in the lab working on a problem and miss the whole ceremony. Hank was more likely to make sure Bruce got to the common floor at the right time without hulking out.

“Nope. But you have to tell Pepper and Jan and Tony. I’m a coward at heart,” Hank laughed.  “I’m never doing this. Too much pomp and circumstance. If I ever find someone to put up with me, I’m just going to live happily ever after quietly together.”

“I’ll remind you of that when you’re standing in a monkey suit one day,” Bruce replied, thinking of the petite black haired Jan who had a thing for Hank. Talking was helping; he wished, not for the first time, that Clint was here. Stupid traditions. But Natasha was surprisingly superstitious about these things, so he’d not seen Clint since they woke up this morning in the rental apartment. That memory made him smile; lazy morning sex with the sun coming up through the windows, Clint laid out beneath him, so open and pliant. He was infinitely thankful that they’d gone ahead and married in a small ceremony yesterday; now he didn’t have to worry about this whole fete coming off. When the inevitable disruption arose, that was one less problem to deal with later. And he and Clint were forever linked already. That was an excellent thought.

As if on cue, his phone whistled; Clint had set it with sounds from the original Star Trek just so he could say “Captain to the bridge!” every time it went off.  He looked at the text that had come in.

_What say we blow this pop stand, steal Becca and go back to our place?_

Their place wasn’t their apartment upstairs in Stark Tower; the rental he’d secured for their ‘wedding’ night was right out of Clint’s dreams and he was already attached to it. Bruce had shared those psychic moments, thanks to the mental connection of the tesseract and Charles Xavier’s help, and he had to admit the place would be a perfect family home for the four of them.

_Hulk like quiet_ , the Other Guy agreed. _Not bump head on ceiling and sliding doors big enough._

Bruce took a second to reply to Clint.

_Security downstairs. Quinjet free? Meet in five up top._

Clint’s answer came quickly.

_Nat’s got eyes up. We’ll need a distraction._

“Excuse me, Bruce?” Barney Barton stood in the doorway, hesitant about entering. “I just wanted to say … congratulations and, um, welcome to the family, fucked up as it is.”

Bruce still wasn’t sure what to make of Clint’s brother; he seemed sincere in his desire to mend fences with Clint, but it was all too neat and convenient that Barney showed up right after Mab lost a bid to take over Clint’s body.  Trust was something that Bruce rarely gave, and Barney had done nothing to earn it.

“Thanks.” He nodded at the other man, wondering what this visit was about.

“Um, so,” Barney began, dropping his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, can you tell Clint that this week has been, well …” He sighed and shut his eyes as if to help him concentrate. “Too much water under the bridge,” he went on when he opened them again. “I’m realizing that I blew something that could have been pretty damn good. Having a brother like Clint. Anyway, too late for all that now. I’ve fucked it all up again, and he’s never going to forgive me.”

The hairs rose on the back of Bruce’s neck, and he shared a quick glance with Hank who was palming his Starkphone in his pocket, probably sending a distress signal. “What have you done, Barney?”

“Yeah, like, I didn’t have a choice, okay? You can’t resist her, not when you’re like me and got so much shit weighing you down. She finds the one thing you want the most, the person that’s important to you and squeezes until you pop. Bitch is worse than any drug lord or gang leader I’ve heard of.” He wasn’t moving, just standing there shifting from foot to foot.

“Barney.” The word came out with a deep growl; Bruce wasn’t even trying to fight the Other Guy taking control, but he was making sure he was awake and aware.

“Thing is, I’d tried to forget that he’s my brother, okay? Let the jealousy and stupid macho bullshit get in the way. But now he’s got a kid and a family, and damn it all, I’m not that much of a heartless bastard.”

“Talk,” the Hulk commanded, reaching for Barney and wrapping his hands around the man. But he didn’t squeeze, he just trapped him because Cupid wouldn’t want him to hurt the man. No matter how much Hulk wanted to smash him. And the Little Guy needed to find out what Cupid Bro had done. “What Queen Bitch’s plan.”

“You’re not one of her minions,” Hank said. He’d stepped forward, hand on his new belt activator. “We’d know if one of them had possessed you.”

“I’m the distraction. Misdirection, keep you looking at me, waiting for me to do something. So you won’t see the other ball dropping.” Barney’s voice was shallow because the Hulk wasn’t being gentle.

“Becca.” The Hulk rounded on Hank, and Bruce shoved his way to the front. “Get Clint down there. Take him.” He dropped Barney at Hank’s feet, and the Hulk bounded out onto the balcony, jumping up the three floors to where their rooms where. Hauling himself over the edge, he almost beat JARVIS opening the sliding glass doors to give him access to the living area.

Melinda May came out of Becca’s room, prepared for a fight, relaxing only a fraction when she saw the Hulk. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Is there a threat?”

“Becca in danger.” Hulk barreled past her; Melinda wisely stepped aside. The small baby was sleeping, but she jerked her legs up and scrunched her nose as if something disturbed her. “Queen Bitch going to hurt Becca.”

“There’s no one here …” Just as Melinda started to try and calm him, they both heard the sound of breaking glass; four men, clad all in black, zip lined through the broken exterior windows. Long sleek guns were firing even before they hit the floor; Melinda rolled behind the sofa and the Hulk blocked the door, bullets bouncing off of him.

“Get Becca out of here,” Melinda said. “I can handle these guys.”

He scooped up the baby, blanket and all, cradling her close to his chest in the crook of one arm, letting his skin act as a shield to keep her away from any ricochets. Roaring at the attackers, he swung out his other arm and caught the one who broke away and tried to get at them.

“Hulk!” Clint shouted. He tumbled through the front door, more black-clad figures following him; the tailored jacket of his suit tore as he blocked a punch and plowed his fist into the man’s face. There were so many that Clint was pushed back to where Melinda stood her ground; the two placed themselves back-to-back in the center of circle of assailants.  “Don’t …”

“Hulk don’t need jet,” he said as he launched himself out of the window in Becca’s room with one leap. The Little Guy gave him directions and they bounced off of three buildings before they landed on the roof of the apartment building where they’d spent last night. Shrinking down to fit, the Hulk took the stairs down to the penthouse level; he hadn’t been his biggest size, and the key was still in his pants pockets which had managed to survive the changes. Once inside, he looked down and saw the wide blue-grey eyes staring back up at him blink. She opened her mouth, dragged in a breath and screamed like only a baby could, a few decibels above normal voices.

“Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh.” The Hulk began to bounce lightly on his feet, growing even smaller until he was Little Guy size. “Becca not cry. Becca safe.”

“I’m sorry.”

The hiss of the injector was drowned out by Becca’s cries, but the Hulk felt the drug flow up his arm and into his system, a fast rush of cold. He was falling, crumpling to the floor as his strength drained away; he clenched tight to Becca, landing on his back to make sure the wailing baby was safe.

A woman bent down over him and the Hulk growled at her, but couldn’t stop her from taking the baby in her arms. Short black hair dipped across her forehead and her brown eyes were so very, very sad.

“I don’t want to do this, but they have my baby. I’m a fool and I know it.” She looked familiar, like someone Bruce had seen in passing, maybe in the hallway or the elevator, at the Tower or SHIELD. “But I have to save Brandon. I’ll take care of her. Tell Clint Mab wants him to meet her at the coordinates on the counter. She has a proposition for you both.”

Bruce’s vision dimmed, and the last thing he saw was Becca’s red face and open mouth. He heard her cries even as he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

“Bruce?” Clint’s voice floated to where he was wrapped in a warm feeling, the Other Guy fast asleep. “I need you to wake up Bruce. Can you do that?”

Clint was worried; Bruce could tell by the way calloused fingers gripped his face. Too far down to make his mouth work, he thought about rolling over and drifting back off, but an insistent little sound wouldn’t let him. Constant, the low buzz kept poking at his unconscious. It reminded him of Becca’s hungry cry in the middle of the night, but from further away, like it was being filtered through a long distance monitor.

“Bruce, they took Becca.”

Baby Becca, screaming in his arms, scared. Pain then falling. A woman looking down at him. He tried to wake, to say something anything, but could still not manage to make his lips move.

“We’re going to give you a stimulant. They used a neural inhibitor, more advanced than the last we ran into,” Clint told him.

He felt the pinch, started to struggle, reaching down to tap into the frissons of fear that were bleeding through the medicated calm. With a jerk, the Other Guy woke, thrashing his way to the surface.

_Becca_ , the Hulk growled.

“I know, Jade Jaws. We’re on our way to get her. Can you tell me what happened or let me talk to Bruce? I need the details.” Clint’s face was tight and closed off; the Hulk knew what that meant. Cupid was pissed off.  As much as he wanted to smash someone, he also wanted to save Becca. With a disgusted huff, he let the Little Guy take charge, but he didn’t go far, watching from just behind his eyes.

“A woman … she was waiting for us … at the apartment … I don’t know how …” Bits and pieces were coming back to him. “She left coordinates … said something about saving Brandon … her son? … and being sorry.” 

When he tried to sit up, Clint pushed him back down and Bruce realized he was on a crash gurney in the back of the Quinjet. Turning his head, he saw Natasha at the controls, flying the plane.

“Take your time. We’re over the Atlantic and have hours to go yet. I found the paper; it’s a location in Ireland.” Clint rested his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Tell you what, describe her for me, this woman.”

 “I don’t remember much. Black hair, short, brown eyes, dark skin.” Bruce tried for more details but the Hulk’s memories were always so fuzzy to begin with.  “Wait, she called you Clint. Said Mab had a proposal for you.”

“I have five possibilities of dark skinned women with children named Brandon; would you like me to run their phone records and bank accounts or would you prefer I do a full search?” JARVIS asked from the overhead speakers.

“Give me everything,” Clint replied.

“How did she know to be at the apartment?” That fact was bothering him. He’d only rented the apartment five days ago.

“Hank told me about Barney’s little confession. That had to be planned, knowing you’d change and go check on Becca. From there, the only question was where Hulk would take her,” Clint said. “My bet? The mole in SI saw the address of the rental … wait, we were texting about going there, remember? Damn it, they’re in the phone system somehow. Tip Barney right after and where else would Hulk run to but the place we were just talking about escaping to?”

“Where’s everyone else?” Bruce was shaking off his confusion, trying to make sense of what he’d missed while he was out.

“Tony wanted to come with, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting Mab get inside Tony’s head. Last thing we need is a faerie compelled Iron Man running around. Steve agreed to rely upon Hank’s miniature transmitters to follow us at a distance. Carol, Hank, and Melinda are on the second jet; they’re going to land in Monaghan and be our back up,” Clint supplied.

JARVIS spoke. “Daria Marline Desmond Bradford. Human Resource Officer, Level 6 SHIELD operative. Son, Brandon Richard Bedford, sixteen months old. Father, Arlen Alfred Bradford, currently living in Duluth, Minnesota. For the last eight months, Bradford has accumulated over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in medical bills and utilized all of her family days.”

“The kid’s sick.” Clint jumped ahead, faster than JARVIS could explain. “I bet they offered her a cure for her son, used that as a hook to reel her in.”

“According to the records, Brandon has been diagnosed with Gaucher Disease, type 2. I’m afraid there’s no cure,” JARVIS provided.

“She did it for him … JARVIS, can you find send this info to Phil? Have him check on her movements in the last few days, maybe weeks? Mab probably has her son tucked away somewhere,” Clint said.

“Of course sir.”

“Mab has Becca.” Bruce let that information sink in. “She’s going to hold her over our heads, make us do what she wants.”

“She’s going to try,” Clint agreed. “But we’re going to be three steps ahead of her.”

* * *

 

Knockmany Forest Wilderness area was little more than a tiny ranger cabin with an extra room labeled “Visitor’s Center” and boasting trail maps for backpackers. The car park held three small autos right by the trail head. The ranger, an older, talkative fellow named O’Donogue, eyed their unlikely attire – they were both still in their suits even though Bruce had lost his jacket and they ditched both ties; only Natasha had changed from her dress to black tac pants and shirt. He offered them a day trip pamphlet that included the lakeside circuit to Cairn of Queen Baine and back along by the Mad Woman’s leap. He’d seen neither hide nor hair of a woman with a baby, he claimed, and Bruce was inclined to believe him; the man liked to ask questions and had gotten their pre-arranged story in the first five minutes they were there. Had Daria been through here with Becca, O’Donogue would have interrogated them in his friendly way. Neither was the man one of Mab’s minions; the remote scanner Tony had installed on Bruce’s phone gave him a clean bill of health except for a little hypertension and elevated cholesterol.

The ranger directed them to Castle Leslie, just a few miles away in Glaslough, a very old estate that had been turned into a hotel. Bruce was glad Clint was driving the rented Range Rover over the bumpy single land roads, beeping the horn at the sheep that wandered into their path as Natasha sat quietly in the back seat. He could feel the Other Guy’s growing frustration at the delay; nothing short of broken bones was going to satisfy the rage that was building. The fact that any people they ran in to would most likely be hosts and innocent victims themselves was only making things worse.

“We’ll get her,” Bruce said out loud to comfort them all. He wasn’t sure he believed it, not really. So fragile, Becca was out of their control and anything could be happening to her. That low level niggle in his head was louder now, Becca’s mind linked to his, scared and unsure. In her short life, she’d known so much upheaval already that Bruce’s heart broke for her. He hoped that years ahead in their future would make up for the circumstances of her birth. And he was damn well sure they were going to have long days to shower her with love.

_My girl_ , the Other Guy agreed. _Always._

Reaching out a hand, Bruce squeezed Clint’s knee; just like he could feel Becca’s distress, he could sense Clint’s icy calm. Intent on the road, Clint kept his eyes straight ahead, but the connection between them grew stronger. Xavier had said that their abilities were still evolving; whether they would ever be able to achieve the same sharing they had while Clint had been under the influence of the drug, Charles couldn’t say, but he did believe that stress would open the channel wider. Closing his eyes, Bruce concentrated and, for a second, the apartment faded in, the feel of the leather sofa beneath his back, the warmth of a small body snug on his lap, Clint’s arm along his shoulders.

_We’re coming, Baby,_ Bruce thought. _Papa and Daddy both_.

_All of us,_ the Other Guy added.

They rounded a curve and saw a castle ahead, grey stone rising from emerald green landscaped lawn, the rippled blue of the lake down to their left. The great doors, large carved oak with wrought iron handles, were at the top of a set of low stone stairs. Clint pulled the car to a halt and they climbed out, grabbing the go packs, determined to get a room and get back to the forest as soon as they could.  Through the doors was a two story entryway, dark wood paneling and ornate wallpaper covered in golden vines.

“Good afternoon, gentleman. Glad you could join us.”

She made no pretense at being anything but the royalty she believed she was. A short red dress, pleated tight along the curve of her hips, creamy white curve of breasts visible in the deep plunge of her neckline. She stood out, dressed for a cocktail party instead of a quiet afternoon in the country, her black hair artfully arranged in loose curls and fuck-me lipstick perfectly lined. Pure seduction, her smile promised that there was heat beneath the layer of chill she showed the world, a trap waiting to be sprung for anyone who believed there was anything more than ice in her soul. Bruce felt the pull, hell, any man would, she was broadcasting so strongly, but it merely flowed around him; he wasn’t interested – who would be when he had Clint? – and the Other Guy’s anger was so strong that Mab’s magic didn’t have a chance.

In total silence, they all three stood unmoving, stares as sharp as knives aimed right at Mab’s heart. She slinked forward, coming closer, examining them all.

“I forgot just how small humans are.” Circling, she took in every detail. “You, my darling. What have you done to yourself?” The last was addressed to Natasha; Mab reached a finger out to catch a curl. “Such violence you are capable of inflicting upon yourselves. Too bad. I always have loved red hair and such a body! With you, I could rule so easily.”

Bruce wondered where all the people were; this was a hotel after all. There was no sign of anyone else in the entryway or the two side rooms he could see with his peripheral vision, a large lounge with a fireplace and a wall of French doors that led to a patio on his left and a restaurant on his right with dark oak tables and large chandeliers hanging down.

“But I forget my manners. Come, you must be hungry. Let’s drink and refresh ourselves while we talk.” Mab swept her arm out towards the lounge. Still, no one moved. “Oh, please, I am not going to slaughter you in the hallway. It would leave a mess on the carpet and that’s a Kerman. Deirdre!” she called and a young woman appeared from the restaurant area, black skirt, white shirt, sensible black shoes and her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her green eyes were blank, not showing any interest in the new people standing before her. “Bring us three Macallan’s and some of those lovely tea cakes.”

“Yes, your majesty.” She bobbed her head and hurried away to do Mab’s bidding. Some sort of mind control, Bruce thought, or the girl was one of them. Had she taken the whole staff? And what of the guests?

When they still didn’t move, Mab sighed. “Save me from those tales and stories. I can only imagine what lies have evolved over the years we’ve been gone. The food was prepared earlier today for their afternoon tea and this is Earth, so you are safe. Damn idea to not eat or drink came from those who traveled through the portal. Our physiologies are different, and there are side effects, I’m afraid, when a human consumes our food. We are able to synthesize your delicacies, but you cannot stomach ours. I’m sure you have questions; come, I will answer them for you. I am not a monster nor a myth, as you can see.”

Bruce tried to hide his surprise; he’d expected her to be mystical, play up the stories, not to hit them with science. It made him want to ask questions, find out more about the portal, their technology … and that was the reason she’d done it. He looked at Clint who raised one eyebrow and gave him a slight nod to go ahead.

“We’re not going anywhere until you give us Becca.” The rest didn’t matter. Bruce would push the button to blow up her world without hesitation if she hurt his girl. Or maybe that was the Other Guy. Didn’t make a difference at the moment.

“She is somewhere above the Atlantic, I believe. I can give you the commercial flight number; I’m sure your phone can track their arrival. They are landing in Dublin and taking a car from there.” Mab walked into the lounge and, after the three of them shared a look, they followed. Bruce took one of the comfortable chairs before the fireplace, Clint standing just behind him with a hand on his shoulder, and Natasha walked the perimeter of the room, doing a security sweep. “You arrived faster than they did. The beauty of having your own flight capabilities.”

“And Brandon Bradford? Where is he? Or is he already dead?” They’d decided that Bruce would do the talking, that he was the least threatening of them all when he was himself.

“You truly have a skewed idea of what I am, don’t you?” She settled in her own chair, crossing her long legs. “He is upstairs with a nanny even as we speak. Our medicine is much more advanced than yours; we were able to cure his illness with a simple inoculation. When his mother returns, they will be reunited.”

“So you didn’t take him and use him to force Daria to help you steal Becca?” Bruce asked, incredulous that she’d think they’d buy that story.

“Of course I did. Leverage is always important to motivating human behavior. Give you a reason to do something, or you won’t do it. A controlled reward for learning.” She shrugged and reached for one of the glasses of amber liquid the waitress had returned with. “She gets her son back, healed, and I get what I want. No harm, no foul.”

“And Barney? Ochoa? Richard Fisk? Did they get their reward for running the maze the right way?” Bruce was getting angry at her condescending attitude as if they were nothing more than test rats to be experimented on.

“Barney Barton will be paid well for his part in this; if he’s smart, he will disappear and change his name to avoid those who wish to kill him. That’s up to him. The Ochoa boy was unstable, I think we can all agree. He was unsuitable as a host, thank the stars; he went far beyond his instructions in his methods. Fisk was willing to share with Morden; he was unprepared for the level of response you and your friends were capable of mounting. To be honest, so was I. Humans have grown, evolved, since the last time we were here. I find it quite exciting and look forward to our new collaborations.”

Bruce took the proffered glass, but neither Clint nor Natasha did. Whatever was in it, Bruce’s metabolism would make short work of any poison or additive. Still, he scanned it with his phone before he took a sip. “So you’re just some innocent bystander who happened to pick the wrong people? We’re supposed to believe that?”

“I am a queen, Bruce Banner. I do what is best for my people and I get what I want. I reciprocate in kind when I have to and I reward those who aide me. That is what you should believe.” She sat with a ramrod straight spine and glared at him. “Help me, and I will allow your family to leave here unscathed. Defy me, and I will be reduced to using force.”

“What’s the deal?” Clint asked, hard flinty voice cutting through the tension. “We consent to nothing until the terms are agreed upon by all parties involved.”

Mab sat back and smiled. “Ah, the realist. Good. I had hoped you were enough like your brother to see the benefits outweigh the negatives. My needs are simple; I wish to reopen the door between our worlds. To do so, I need a human willing to act as the key. You, Clint Barton, fulfill all the necessary requirements for the process to take place. Open the door, and you and your family may go free.”

“That’s very vague and nebulous,” Bruce protested. She’d really told them nothing. “Why are you so hell bent on getting back to Earth? And what do you plan to do when you get here?”

“Co-exist. That’s all we ask. I appreciate the beauty of this world, the creativity of your people. Once, we lived together in harmony; now we could share so much more of our knowledge, our science. A very beneficial arrangement can be reached. There is no need to fear us.” She was good, so sincere, oozing trust me from every pore. “Our plane of existence is … crowded, our politics convoluted and divisive. Here, we can be free to live as we wish.”

“Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven,” Natasha said with a smug smile.

“That is a good way of putting it, although I would reign over no more than my own people and court,” Mab agreed.

“To translate, you’ve lost power on your world and want to come here to rule a backward planet that will treat you like a god?” Clint asked. Not much different than Loki’s plan or a half-dozen of any other want to be rulers, Bruce thought.  “Or are you on the run because you’ve fucked up so badly you’ve no place else to go?”

Mab’s eyes narrowed and her smile slimmed. “I can offer you cures to diseases, energy sources, new technologies, much more than you can imagine. At low cost of allowing us to live among you.”

“What are these requirements that Clint meets? What will happen to him? Why Clint?” Bruce demanded.

“I need a human capable of being a host … I believe you are calling them ‘mutants’ or ‘superheroes’ now … one who is powerful enough to survive the ritual. Clint’s bonds with you and your monster, Dr. Banner, make him the ideal candidate; he can draw on your strength during the process. That’s why we need his consent; without his agreement, we cannot create the connection necessary. The ritual itself is very simple, a basic physical act of intimacy at the right place and the right time.”

“Sex? You want me to have sex with you?” The words flew out of Clint’s mouth, tight and sharp. “Lady, you’ve got some set of balls on you.”

“The door can be breached when a human opens himself to one of my kind to act as a bridge. The details are very specific -- when, where – and since you blocked your mind off from my people, we shall have to go about this the old-fashioned physical way.”

“NO!” The Hulk roared to the surface, his patience frayed and all of the drug finally out of his system. He surged up from the chair and reached for Mab. “Hulk protect …”

 Just the tips of her fingers touched the Hulk’s cheek, twin points of freezing cold that knocked the Hulk back into himself without so much as a whimper. Bruce blinked, his vision cleared and became crystalline as he looked into Mab’s violet eyes.

“I can give you this,” she told him, the two of them suspended in a moment. “To be free of the monster. Or, if you wish, to integrate both into one whole.”

Suddenly he clenched his fist and saw the muscles flex, could feel the strength he could draw upon, the rage he could convert and channel, all through his own mind.

“And I promise that you will have your family, safe and sound. I will only borrow him for a few hours.”

It was too good an offer, and Bruce knew better than to trust her. That didn’t mean he didn’t think about it for a few seconds, long enough to realize he truly didn’t want to be alone in his head anymore. What he wanted was to not be the Little Guy and the Other Guy but to be Bruce and the Hulk with Clint and Becca completing them.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Bruce told her. “I’m afraid the Hulk doesn’t play well with others. And I’m in agreement with him.”

She sighed.

“Too bad,” she said. 

Her next touch knocked him out.


	5. The Tower of Cirith Ungol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's got arguments on all sides, but he's determined to do what he must to save his family.

“There’s no way you’re going to agree to this,” Bruce was saying. “Mab can’t be trusted. She’s proved that too many times to take the chance.”

“She has to keep to the deal,” Clint argued back. “We get her to promise and then we ….”

“What? Open the door for the rest of her court to come through? The ones who didn’t promise not to take over your addled brain?” Natasha cut him off. “Damn it, Clint, you’ve had some stupid ideas, but this? Is the Hulk going to just sit and watch you fuck her? Think this through.”

“I have, okay. Every possibility; there’s a good seventy percent chance Becca and you guys come through this safely and Mab doesn’t get her way.” Clint took to pacing back and forth across the suite that Mab had one of the maids show them to after her little exhibition of power down in the lounge.  They’d been here for a few hours now, waiting for Daria to arrive with Becca.

“And what about you? What are your odds?” Bruce demanded, his eyes flashing green as his voice deepened.

“Maybe 20 or 25% as it stands now.” He shrugged. Sure that every word was being overheard, Clint was playing things close to the vest. “Look, Becca is top priority. The Hulk knows that and I’m counting on the Big Guy to get her the hell out of harm’s way.”

The door opened and Daria entered, toting a baby carrier. She hesitated when she saw them, her dark eyes widening. Sitting the carrier on the floor, she stepped away, backing towards the hallway, but she bumped into Barney who came through and shut the door behind him.

“You.” Bruce changed in one fluid motion, large enough to knock over his chair as he stood. Daria shrank in on herself, fear flitting across her face. In two steps, the Hulk had his hand around Barney’s neck, lifting the man off the ground so his feet dangled uselessly. “Lied to Hulk. Hurt Cupid. Bad brother.”

“Hey!” Barney squeaked, finger scrabbling to loosen the Hulk’s hold. “I didn’t have a choice. Bitch said she’d turn me over, let them filet me. Seriously, dude, I’d be dead in minutes.”

“Minutes are a luxury you threw away when you betrayed your brother,” Natasha warned. Barney blanched; he knew who she was, her reputation for vengeance. “The correct answer was to die.”

“Stop,” Clint ordered, putting his hand on the Hulk’s arm. “Let him down, Big Guy. We’re going to need him alive.”  The Hulk growled in response, tightening his fingers until Barney’s mouth opened as he tried to suck in air.  “He’s Becca’s uncle and my brother. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t walk away scott free.”

Falling into a loose pile on the floor, Barney curled into a ball and lay where the Hulk dropped him. “Hulk not like Cupid Bro,” he said, turning to pick up the carrier and bring it closer to his chest. He sniffed. “Becca need changed.”

Without a word, Daria scooted a large diaper bag towards them with her foot, her gaze jumping between the three of them. “There are two more prepared bottles and plenty of diapers. She ate on the ride here from the airport.”

“Have a seat,” Clint motioned towards an empty chair. “We need to know everything from the beginning, every detail.”

He wanted to be angry with the woman, wanted to smash his fist into his brother’s face, but neither of those choices would help them out of this situation. And he found he felt some twisted kinship with Daria; after all, he was willing to burn the world down to save Becca. What would he do if Becca was ill and someone could heal her? To save one soul, who would he betray? He knew the answer to that.

“I don’t know much, but what I do I’ll tell you.” A sheen of tears shimmered in her eyes. “I just want my son back. I haven’t seen him in over a month.”

“Then start talking.”

Mab had come at her sideways, a recommendation by a trusted pediatrician who had heard of a specialist – probably a thought implanted in the doctor’s mind. At first, it had all seemed legitimate, appointments, testing, just a glimmer of hope to keep her moving forward. An injection that lessened the symptoms for a short time, one more shot, one more dosage, insurance wouldn’t cover more, pull the last of her savings, try to get more money, ease her into the idea of other ways to pay. Even then, she’d been asked for simple things – an introduction to a scientist working on a project that might help with a cure, bits of data that weren’t really classified. Every time Brandon got better, she’d hope this was the one, but it never was and she was dragged in deeper and deeper until she was accessing files above her level and delivering messages. She gave up the names of her contacts without hesitation, along with all the details she knew about the others working for Mab. What she didn’t know was how many of those people were coerced like she was or under their own volition.

“There were two other children,” Daria said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The last time I saw Brandon, I saw them. Wanted to scare me, remind me that there were others if I balked. In a hotel in the city where I met the doctor; I think he’s one of them. I did some digging; the name he used was a real doctor, but I think they took him early on. And he wasn’t the one who came up with the treatments. I found a mission report about a raid on an A.I.M. base where they were working on isolating the genes for certain diseases, including Brandon’s.”

Natasha tapped some keys on her phone; they’d decided against speaking directly to JARVIS. There was no way to tell how much Mab knew about their communication abilities; the comms had gone dead once they’d gotten here, but a link to JARVIS was in the scanners on their phones and data was appearing on the screen when they typed questions.

“Do you have any idea what she has planned?” It was a long shot, Clint knew.

“I heard the doctor talking to someone on the phone once.  He was angry, yelling. Said that the changes couldn’t be rushed, that forcing them any faster would cause cancerous growths and other dangerous mutations. I assumed he was talking about Brandon’s treatment – he’d said it was an experimental gene therapy. But then he said ‘I told you that wouldn’t work. You’ve just made them strong enough to defy you. Only a willing sacrifice will work or we wait for them to grow up’.” Daria gripped the arms of the chair tightly. “They want to use my son … the children, all of them … as hosts, don’t they?”

The Hulk growled as he was fastening the clean diaper on Becca. He loved children; anyone who hurt a child was high on the Hulk’s smash list. Breeding children to be hosts? Yeah, Mab was ticking off all the Big Guy’s boxes.

“Brandon’s father, did they do a genetic profile?” Clint asked. The pieces were finally all in place; he was jumping ahead, seeing Mab’s plan laid out before him. “All the people they targeted will have kids that are potential or active mutants. Hell, they engineered Becca’s parentage, why not others? Imprint on a blank psyche, much easier than fighting an established one.”

“Oh God.” Daria’s hand flew to her mouth. “Arlie and me, well, it was  blind date; we met online … I know, my sister gave me such a hard time about the dangers, insisted the first date be in a public place … and we slept together just that once.  He’d already moved by the time I discovered I was pregnant; I called and told him, went through all the paperwork for him to give up his rights. You don’t think … I mean … did they arrange that too? That was over two years ago.”

“I think Mab’s been planning longer than that, preparing to work through intermediaries,” Clint said. Actually, Clint was wondering just how much of a long game Mab had been playing. The 20th century had seen an explosion in the number of mutants; Xavier had a number of theories for the exponential increase, but no hard data. How big of a leap would it be to believe that Mab was preparing the human population for the return of her people?

“Excuse me.” The same young maid who showed them to the room knocked and then entered. “The Queen wishes to fulfill her promise; if you’d come with me, Ms. Bradford, I’ll take you to your son now.”

“Tell Mab we’ll take ** _all_** the children here, in this room. Right now,” Clint demanded. “As soon as they’re delivered to us, I’ll be ready to open negotiations.” 

“I don’t …” the girl began, but she stopped as Clint turned his determined eyes her way. “I’ll tell her, sir.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Natasha said.

“Me too,” Clint agreed. “Me too.”

* * *

 

Mab was beautiful, Clint would give her that, and she knew exactly how to play to her strengths. The candlelight reflected off of her dark hair, her penchant for red lipstick an accent against the creamy white of the suit she was wearing. Slim pants, single button jacket over a white on white striped silk shirt, she looked like winter in the dark paneled room, the absence of color among the busy floral wallpaper and heavy furniture.  Standing by the fireplace, she was every bit the Lady of the Manor; the two men who flanked either side of the doorway were her retainers, their Saville Row suits perfectly cut.

“Nice,” Clint said to the on the left. “So, do you stay here and make sure she doesn’t leave?”

“Humor,” the man replied. Asian and stocky, he was shorter than Clint. “I do remember how funny humans think they are … and how much I enjoyed teaching them differently.”

“And that’s going to make me want to help you? Mab, darlin’, maybe you can teach your grunts not to be so obvious until the deal is done?” Clint kept walking until he came to a big leather chair with an ottoman; without waiting for Mab to be seated, he plopped down and kicked his feet up. Smooth brow winkled in irritation for a second before Mab gave him an indulgent smile.

“You must forgive Corraidhin; he’s a warrior, not a diplomat.” She settled into her own chair with a nod to the two men. “But he does what he’s told. Don’t you, my love?”

“As you command, my Queen,” Corraidhin replied, but Clint could hear frustration in his voice.  Maybe there was some play there, a way to drive a wedge between …

“No, you can’t,” Mab said, cutting into Clint’s thought. “No one crosses me. They all know what happens if they try, so as much as they may hate me, they will never betray me.”

“How very Machiavellian of you. Methinks, however, that the lady doth protest too much.  Life lesson forty seven: the tighter you squeeze, the more things slip through your fingers. I’ll give you that for free.” She was unamused and, for a second, Clint thought about reining in his mouth, but, what the hell? “Oh, please,” he said. “Say it for me? Always wanted a Queen to say it to me. Come on. ‘We are not amused.’ Got to use the royal we for it to be authentic.”

“You think entirely too much of your own wit,” she replied, crossing those long legs and swinging her creamy white pump. Clint should probably tell her that white after Labor Day was a faux pas, but he was already pushing it. “It is not becoming.”

“Oh, come on now. I know you like me.” He leaned forward a little bit and winked. “You like me because I’m a scoundrel, your highness.”

One elegant eyebrow arched upward and she glared at him. “I thought you wish to discuss the terms of our bargain. If you only want to hear yourself talk, I can return the children to their keepers.”

“Right. It’s for the children.” He dragged out the last word in his best beauty contestant voice. This was fun, actually; she was the consummate straight man, missing all the references. “I think I should warn you that I learned everything I need to know about contracts with demons from Dean Winchester. Just saying.”

“What humans know about us has been forgotten over the years, turned into nothing but children’s stories. Don’t worry; we’ll remind you once we get here how to live in harmony with our kind. Now, shall we start? You know what I wish; we need only decide what you receive for your participation.” She steepled her fingers, elbows on the arm of the chair, and Clint wanted to laugh at her very obvious attempt at manipulating him. He was trained by the absolute best … Natasha could kick her ass and Mab would never know it … but he wanted to play the country bumpkin to her sophisticated lawyer.

“Whoa there, Nelly. First thing I need is the details of this little sexual tryst. When, where, why, who, what, and how. The five Ws and an H. Basic journalism 101. No specifics and you aren’t crawling up my ass to open a door.” He threw in some crudeness, and she reacted with the slightest pinch between her eyebrows. Oh, she didn’t like that. Not one bit.

“Simple, really, but I shall make it so your human mind understands. Tomorrow evening at precisely 4:57 p.m. at Baine’s burial place, the door may be opened by a human … you … who offers himself freely to an Eldaren noble. There are some preliminaries – a series of formulas in sounds and structures, the addition of a very low level of gamma radiation which, usefully, you and your berserker lover bring, and a tiny bit of cosmic radiation which, again, already inhabits your body. You see why you are so useful? Two of the more difficult elements in one form.”

“By sounds and structures, I’m taking that to mean a ritualistic chant of some kind? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure there’s some wild sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll involved. Dancing Queen, tambourines, disco balls.” Clint filed the info away, confirming his suspicions. He and Bruce had been targeted precisely because of their previous exposure to radiation and the Tesseract. But Mab didn’t strike him as the type who made alliances, so Clint wiped Loki’s name off of his suspect list. Mab was in this for herself. People worked for her, not with her, and she didn’t seem the type to brook anyone as powerful as herself around.

“Numbers are not the only way to explain the universe,” Mab said with her patronizing tone. “Words, music … they can be just as informative.  One day, after I am re-established here, I shall show your scientists the secrets of sounds. The most advanced equations can be mastered with a single note.”

“Ah, and here I thought restaurant math was the most complex; no improbability drive then.” He pouted for just a second. “So that’s a big yes to the wild orgy? Everyone going to be having sex or just us?”

“I see no need to deny my people their celebration of the momentous event.” She shrugged s if it was not an issue.

“And the humans? I know you’re not leaving anyone here, so my first caveat is that every single sentient being has a choice to participate. Assuming they are of age of consent which, for this event, we’ll say is eighteen-earth-years-old.  If they’re not, then they are off limits. Period.”

Her body stiffened for just a fraction of a moment then her smile was back. He’d surprised her. “Agreed. And you are not as dumb as you pretend to be.”

“I have a good friend who’s very detail oriented. Just because I don’t bother doesn’t mean I can’t run with the big dogs.” His turn to shrug. “So, kinky monkey sex orgy for consenting adults is on the table – haven’t agreed, mind you, just tossing it out there. And the whole nannites and mutation part of this plan?  Why so many puny Earth scientists making new super-soldiers and hulks? Hell, if music is the food of love, why not just find some fiddle players and dance us to death?”

“Humans were unable to maintain a connection with us for long periods of time. Your minds and bodies were not built to share our physiology.” She pushed up and began to pace in front of the fireplace. No patience. Clint added that to the list. “You grow old and die far too fast. Many of our attributes are stifled or dampened by your physical limitations.  Evolved, your lifespan can approximate ours, giving us centuries to know one another. We simply sought to help the process that was already begun; we did not introduce the mutations in your genes. Unfortunately, humans have their own agendas and, as always, make very poor choices of what to do with the information and aid we gave them. Fisk and Ochoa, for example. Such a shame.”

“Yeah, you know how to pick ‘em. So you got tired of waiting and sped things up so we can … join? Co-habitate? Are we talking Vulcan mind meld here or full on body snatchers? What happens to the people you swap spit with?” In his own head, Clint knew the answer; he’d watched as Fisk was taken, had felt the Winter Knight’s attempt to control him. The human would have little say over his own body. Oh, Clint needed to quote Jack O’Neill here soon. Stargate had gotten the villains right after all.

“The human host is completely willing … as you know we cannot take one who is protected or refuses. They remain active and have a deep and abiding relationship with us.”

“Oh, now that’s just bullshit.” Clint barked a laugh. “Deep and abiding. Right. We are people of action, Mab. Lies do not become us.”

Her smile was shark like as she replied. “Oh, indeed, Clint … may I call you Clint. We are about to become very intimate after all … it is true that, sometimes, the relationship is more of a dominant and a submissive one, but then you humans have always enjoyed serving in so many different capacities.”

“The woman whose skin you’re wearing right now. What does she have to say?” Had to be a mutant, a powerful one to house Mab.

“I made Wanda a deal and she took it. She wanted out of her current situation, a very dangerous one, I might add, and I needed a temporary body.” Mab skimmed her hands down her sides, admiring her body. “She is lovely. Don’t you think? It won’t be difficult for you to desire this.”

“Actually, I’m into older doctors with dark eyes and big green guys who can smash puny want-to-be godlings. Sorry, that just doesn’t turn my crank. Guess we’ll have to call this off.” Seduction wasn’t going to work; she could just save herself the trouble. “To be blunt, I’m a cock man.”

With a sigh, she dropped the come hither look. “Don’t worry. There are pharmaceutical means to that end. Corriadhin’s host is a doctor; I’m sure he knows what we could use. The act need not be unpleasant for you.”

Clint ignored the jibe; little blue pills or not, he doubted he needed to get hard for what she had in mind. Just lots of lube. “Again. Bullshit. I know the plan – use my ass and take over. Rule the world. Any day. You and Me. Love your hair?” Clint halfway sang the lyrics just to see the look of confusion on her face. “You’re going to find we’ve changed in the time you’ve been gone. Not everyone’s going to line up to be your meat suits.”

“I do not understand half of what you say,” she complained. “Of course you’ve changed. We’ve been watching. But you cannot change your natural state; humans want someone to tell them the answers to their questions, to help them progress. We offer that and people will be happy to aide us in return.”

“What are we going to do tonight, Pinky?” She could not honestly believe he’d buy that line of crap. “You are so bent on world domination. But that’s neither here nor there; I’m a realistic sort of guy so, let’s get to brass tacks. What do I get if I let you do a prostate exam on the sacrificial altar o’ sex?”

“I have promised that you would survive,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest. “I offered that your family will remain together and intact.”

“Devil’s in the details, Mab Baby.  Point one: my body is my own and no one else can take it, do not try to take it or make any attempts to override or skirt around that rule. If so much as you or one of your people of any of your kind even blink at me wrong, deal’s off.  Just sex. Nothing metaphysical or spiritual, got it?”

“Agreed.” She nodded as if expecting that one.

“Point two: same goes for my family. We walk out of here with our own brains, no ride-alongs. All of us. Especially Becca.”

“Agreed.”

“Point three: we are off limits forever. Even after we’re dead. No resurrection, no magic, no science, nothing. You and your kind keep your mitts off of us.”

She wrinkled her forehead on that one. “Resurrection? Agreed.”

“Point four: I want a list of all the kids you’ve engineered through plain old human sex or science or magic or whatever. They’re off limits too and you’ll cease and desist trying to create a perfect human host. Take only what’s offered freely by humans who have had no interference in their genetics by anyone. Period. Got that? No hiring humans to do your dirty work.”

“You would refuse our help in becoming more powerful?” She asked, tilting her head to look at him. “Why? We could exponentially advance humankind and that would benefit you all. There are great dangers in the universe you are now exploring and not enough superhumans to protect you.”

“Because you’ve got an agenda, and you walking around in a superhuman suit? Yeah, no.” The Avengers all controlled by these people? That wasn’t a world Clint would want to live in. “Let me make it clear. The kids you’ve had a hand in creating, in any form or fashion, you leave alone. Any human manipulated outside the bounds of the natural cycle, you leave alone. And you stop meddling in human evolution.”

“This is unacceptable.” She shook her head and Clint saw a red glow form around her clenched fists. “We have worked for centuries preparing and you wish us to begin from scratch because you are afraid?”

“Yep. Look. I’m opening the damn door for you. And any naturally occurring human who wants to say yes to you can. That’s more than you have now. The rest happens in our time scale, not yours.” He spread his legs and got comfortable in the seat. “You need me. My guess is that you have one shot now to open this thing and then there’s going to be a lot more time before you get another chance. That’s how these things work. So read ‘em and weep, lady. Play your cards right and you live to talk about it. ‘Cause you need that door open; trickling in doesn’t cut it.”

Her cheeks flushed red and her dark eyes flashed at him. “You are an insolent little creature who doesn’t deserve the power that’s been given you. I will do great things for you people and this is how you treat me?”

“You can fool some of the people, babe,” he said, “but don’t kid a con artist. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

A red glow flowed up her arms, spread outward across the room. Walls seemed to flex and change, colors bleeding away into monochromatic grey. Everything but Mab; the power surrounded her, hair flowing out, static jumping between the strands. A battle raged in her face, the arrogance of Mab pushed away by fear and confusion.

“I … can’t hold her … for long.” Panting, the woman’s voice had changed, younger, trembling with effort. “She’s strong … and her will …”

“Wanda.” Clint leaned forward and reached a hand towards her.

“Don’t … touch … me.” She shook her head. “Listen. She’s lying by … omission. Loopholes … open the door … and there’s more … than her people. The other things … can … will kill you.” Shaking, she clenched her hands, pushing hard on her hips as if centering herself. “I didn’t want to know what she was offering. I was scared and needed … my brother is missing, taken by … the U.S. Government. She said she could find him … I think she arranged it all.”

“We’ll get her out of you.” With Mab pushed back, Wanda was younger than Clint had originally thought, in her early twenties at the most.

“I don’t know what I can …” She gasped, closed her eyes, and the color came back between one breath and the next. The red glow disappeared and Mab spoke as if nothing had happened.  “As you wish,” she said, and Clint tried not to grin at the turn of phrase. “You have me at a disadvantage; I do need to take this opportunity. You are right; the timing is specific. But I would add the caveat that we can renegotiate our aide in your scientific progress if you wish. By limiting our involvement, we cannot even provide cures for diseases, as that might be considered ‘meddling’.”

“So Victor Von Doom can waltz in and ask to be enhanced?” Clint snorted at that assertion. “Again, that’s going to have to be a big no.”

She huffed, almost stomping her foot in her impatience. “Humans always have those in authority. Choose who you wish to be the gatekeepers; once there were druids and kings, and I’m sure you have those who fulfill those roles today. You may not speak for all humans, Clinton Barton; let the rest have their say.”

He pretended to think about it, but he already knew he was going to agree. “No deals until the representatives are determined,” he said.

“As you wish,” she repeated. Funny thing about that, she didn’t say yes, and Clint was parsing every word.

“Then we’re agreed?” Clint pushed. The corner of her lips turned up in a small smile.

“We are,” she said.

 


	6. The Battle of Pelennor Fields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hulk isn't happy and Bruce doesn't feel like taming his other side when Clint isn't talking.

“So it’s settled.” Clint finished retelling his encounter with Mab to Natasha and Bruce.  Standing by the fireplace, Natasha had her arms crossed, her stoic silence telling Clint all he needed to know about her response. Bruce was holding Becca, rocking her as she slept. He hadn’t let her go since she’d arrived, cuddling her close. Relegated to the next room, Daria was holding on to her son just as tight and taking care of the four other children, ranging in age from six months to two years. She’d enlisted the young maid and was issuing orders like the HR manager she was. Barney, on the other hand, Natasha had hog tied and locked up in the closet with no windows.  Conscious, but only because the Hulk was busy with Becca and didn’t smash him to a pulp when Barney mouthed off.

“No, it’s not.” Bruce stroked Becca’s cheek; she turned her head towards the sensation even in her sleep.  “I thought we were in this together, but you’re off making decisions that affect us all.”

“What other choice do we have? Bring in the team and put them all at risk? Mab’s people taking over Tony or Steve or Carol? Hell, Mab already covets Natasha; can you honestly think I could take Nat down?” Clint argued. That was a scenario he didn’t want to even think about. He knew his limits; mutation or not, Clint was still the weakest of the team.  No way he’d ever put himself in the situation of fighting them if he could help it. Selfish to think of his friends before the fate of the world, but Clint had always been a self-centered bastard when it came right down to it.

“We don’t hamstring ourselves. You know she’s going to find a way to renege on the deal; that’s what she does.” Bruce was getting angry; Clint could sense it through their connection. The Hulk’s frustration at all this inaction was feeding Bruce’s emotions. “Damn it, Clint, I’m not going to sit there and watch this happen. Patience isn’t his long suit and you know that.”

“Bruce,” Clint started to reply, but Bruce beat him to the punch, handing over Becca to Natasha who took her with only a slight hesitation … she was getting much more at ease handling the baby …  before he stormed out the French doors onto the patio and into the night.

“Well?” Natasha arched an eyebrow and inclined her head, her message clear. “I’ve got Rebecca.”

The night was cool; the moon was waning, a quarter gone, but the cloudless sky meant there was plenty of light to see Bruce following the path down to the lake. A stone gazebo was perched on the shore, architecture from the 18th century when so many Lords added gardens and extensive landscaping.  A path curved down from the patio, glimmering white trail that led Clint after Bruce. Glancing behind, he noted the lit windows, not just their rooms but others as well; on the second floor, Mab stood, framed by the yellow glow, watching.

“Hey, look,” Clint stepped into the shadowy interior, crossing the space to where Bruce stood, staring out over the water. “You know I…”

Eyes glowed green as Bruce grabbed him and pushed up against a stone pillar; the Hulk grew, towering over Clint as he growled, hands clenching on Clint’s biceps when his head bumped the roof. For a second, Clint felt a tiny tendril of fear; the Big Guy was more than angry, he was just the edge of feral, an animalistic gleam in his eyes. 

“Whoa, whoa, okay Big Guy. I’m here, not going anywhere.” He kept his hands loose and at his sides, relaxing instead of fighting the Hulk’s hold.  “It’s going to be okay.”

“Mine,” the Hulk declared. “No one else. Promised.”

“Yes,” Clint agreed. “I promised. Yours. Always.”

That helped; the Hulk shrank but the edge was still there. He was worked up, the worst Clint had seen in a long time.  “Cupid not do this. Hulk smash Queen Bitch, take Becca, go home.”

“I’d love to do that, Jade Jaws, but Mab will still be here, her people that are already through, and they’ll keep trying.  If I break the deal now, she gets free reign. Becca, the other kids … they’ll never be safe,” Clint said in his calmest voice. “You’re the strongest. You can handle this.”

“Cupid. Mine.” To punctuate his words, the Hulk dipped his head, and Bruce was kissing Clint, using the Hulk’s strength to hold Clint in place as Bruce covered Clint’s mouth with his own.  This wasn’t soft or sweet, the kiss was need and raw passion rolled up inside anger and frustration. Giving no quarter, Bruce took what he wanted, and Clint didn’t fight it, just let it happen. He’d given up hiding the fact that he liked it when Bruce manhandled him, that edge which wasn’t dangerous but felt like it.

“Bruce,” Clint moaned when his mouth was free, Bruce sucking marks along his jaw and behind his ear. Clint’s hands grabbed hold of Bruce’s belt as teeth bit at the tender skin along the curve of neck. “We should … go inside …”

“Not going to let go.” Bruce answered by moving a hand to cup Clint’s face. His cheeks were flushed, frantic need in his voice. “Here’s fine. Now.”  His other hand fumbled with Clint’s belt, working it free from the buckle, opening the button and unzipping in a rush until he curled his fingers around Clint’s half-interested cock. “Remind you … who you … belong too.”

Clint didn’t mind the possessive declaration at all; the sentiment sent a little jolt of heat to his groin and his head thunked back on the column as Bruce’s mouth attacked his neck again. There was nothing Clint could do but hang on while Bruce and the Big Guy broke him down and wrung him out, fast and in a frenzied scramble to completion. Turning his head, he could see the silhouette in the window; Bruce twisted his wrist, smearing the first drops of pre-come back down as he jerked Clint off with ruthless efficiency, and Clint didn’t give a damn who could see them.

Fingers dug beneath the waistband of Bruce’s pants, and Clint gave up trying to reciprocate. Bruce was determined and the Hulk growled when Clint tried to undo his belt, so Clint let them do what they wanted and that was to bring him right to the brink. For a second between breaths, Clint was at the top of the precipice, looking down, weightless, and then he was dropping, the force of his fall matching the quick rise. He came, crying out, Bruce biting down on that spot, the line of the artery, and Clint’s brain fritzed out. Pleasure blacked out everything else but the feel of Bruce and the Hulk, so intimate and close.

“Clint.”

Opening his eyes, Clint saw not the lake and the gazebo, but the apartment in New York, Bruce’s face looking down at him. Lying on the bed, he was still breathing heavily, the after effects of his orgasm rippling through him.

“Bruce?”

“Yeah, this was the only way I could think to talk to you. Mab’s watching and listening to everything. I didn’t know how else to establish the connection without drugs or Xavier’s help.” Bruce sat back; he was wearing sleep pants, chest bare. “I wasn’t sure you could feel it, the low level interference that she’s sending out. Like Fisk’s trigger device but much more subtle. The Hulk is going crazy; he sensed it first and it’s distracting him.”

“Fuck. That was part of the deal; she’s supposed to stop manipulating human genetics.” Clint was replaying the conversation in his head. What exactly had they said? “I open the door and she leaves us …”

“You haven’t opened it yet,” Bruce said. “So she’s free to keep it up until you do. That’s why the Hulk is so angry. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but we owe Von Doom and Monica a thank you for inventing that neural inhibitor. Because of that, the Other Guy and I learned some control out in the desert. Mab must believe that I’m going to evolve more like Betty or her father.”

“Hulk still angry.” The Big Guy was large and looming over them, the mental space shifting to accommodate his size. “But Hulk not need to smash; Hulk talk to Little Guy first.”

“She doesn’t know everything.” Clint pushed up on his elbows. “She underestimated us. We can beat her.” He had a sudden thought. “What are we doing in the real world or whatever we want to call it? Won’t it seem weird that we just standing there doing nothing?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a little help.” Bruce glanced down and Clint saw how hard he was. “And you can explain your plan as we go.”

“I can do that.” Clint pulled Bruce down as he dropped back on the bed, sliding a hand into the waistband to touch the hot shaft. He could see both if he tried, Bruce in the moonlight, eyes closed as Clint stroked, and Bruce in bed, tousled hair in the light of the fire. “So, she’s already shown her hand; she’s going to try to rile the Hulk and get me to break the deal, preferably after I’ve cracked open the door. That way she can take us all.”

“And how are we going to stop her?” Bruce asked, breathy and with a little moan.

“Remember that little hotel in Columbia? …”

* * *

 

Becca moved her mouth while she slept, little pursing wrinkles as if she was sucking on a nipple, her whole face scrunching up as snuffled and then settled back down, rubbing her cheek on Clint’s bare chest where she lay, secured by Clint’s hand on her back. Like a ripple of response, Clint’s nose twitched, her ever so small movement alerting him in his light doze. He didn’t wake, just shifted gently, and barely clenched his fingers around her as if assuring himself that she was okay, lifting his other arm from where it was flung and curling his other hand around her bottom. Rolling his head to the left, he exhaled and stilled again.

Watching the two of them, Bruce picked up his phone to finish reading the file he was working on. Soon, Becca would be hungry enough to wake and, although he wanted to let Clint get whatever sleep he could, he was loathe to take her from his arms. Her small weight seemed to affect both of them; even the Other Guy calmed when he touched her. 

The morning sun slanted though the beveled glass of the doors, the day already started. Any other time, this would be an idyllic place for a getaway; the green mountains were framed over the lake, Egyptian cotton sheets smooth against his skin in the king sized bed. An antique walnut bedframe and nineteenth century artwork on the walls, the suite would be a perfect honeymoon destination … Bruce wished it were true, that he could slip down under the sheet that only partially covered Clint and hold both of them and never get up. But beyond the doors were a host of problems and danger to be dealt with, just like always. This was their lives.

After they’d gotten themselves back together and walked up from the lake last night, Clint had let Bruce take him to bed and make love to him again. Desperation that was all too familiar tinged their kisses and Clint had assured Bruce it was fine that he didn’t get off a second time. The truth of that statement bled through their connection, and the Other Guy was placated when he settled Becca into his arms. Exhausted from being drugged and all the changes, Bruce hadn’t argued when Clint insisted he rest first. They crawled in bed together, Clint feeding Becca her last bottle of the day while Bruce zoned out. He’d dreamed the whole time: Betty changing into her hulk form, red and angry, roaring at him in her frustration, his father, screaming at him that he was a monster who’d killed his mother, and General Ross, chasing him in a jeep across the desert. Just when he thought the Other Guy would turn and slam his fist into all of them, Bruce stumbled into the Tower and fell into Clint’s arms, but Clint changed, skin turning to feathers and eyes unblinking. Finally, Bruce gave up and talked Clint into going to sleep; he knew Clint would do no more than doze, but he was going to need strength to get through the day and Clint was smart enough to take the time when he could.

Sounds came from the other room, a baby’s gurgle, a child’s whisper, the clatter of silverware on china. Children, mutants because of Mab’s interference, lost and in peril. Bruce wondered if the mutation waves that Mab was sending out were affecting them as well; he could almost hear it and the Other Guy certainly could. Like an annoying insect buzzing in a quiet room, the vibrations worked on his already frayed nerves, winding him up and leaving his emotions taut and ready to break. Thank God Becca didn’t have nannites in her system like he and Clint did; the trigger signal worked on the microscope creations to make their genetic changes. He hoped that the other children were like Becca, produces of selective breeding rather than forced development; all the data they’d collected from Betty and her father made it clear that Fisk’s triggering procedure had massive side effects.

The thought of General Thaddeus Ross took Bruce back to that moment in the forest, when Ross had threatened the Other Guy and he’d run. The catalyst, Bruce was beginning to believe they’d have ended up here one way or another. Mab seemed to have plans within plans, waiting, like a patient spider, until they wandered right into her web. Bruce understood the truth of humanity, learned from his childhood. Emotion was a strength and weakness; like Daria selling secrets to save her son, Bruce knew the power of that kind of love. He could even accept the impulse to keep living at any cost, the push that drove Barney Barton to betray his own brother.

_Don’t care. Die first, t_ he Other Guy rumbled, unhappy

It was true; Bruce would never make that choice, but he couldn’t fault those who, when given that terrible option, took it. Barney hadn’t done anything that Mab couldn’t have found another way to accomplish; she was good, this faerie queen, never asking for more than the person was capable of giving. The problem was not the number of people Mab could coerce; it was the number of people who’d join of their own free will. Fisk, out to prove himself to his father the Kingpin, and Ochoa, crazier than a bag of cats, both of them sociopaths with their own agendas. Monica Rappacinni who would see Mab’s offer of technology as too good to pass up, uncaring about the morality of it all.  Victor Von Doom would invite her to dinner.

Then there’d be those who’s just want to follow, be led. Let themselves be used up and tossed aside. Bruce had no illusions; his mother’s love was bound up in her submission to his father, even at the expense of her son. Too many searching for a reason, so quick to jump on any bandwagon that made them feel needed, wanted. Mab would offer them exactly that wrapped in a package of music and wealth and pleasure. And they’d do her bidding with a smile. She’d have a kingdom in a few years, powerful connections to rival first world governments, and fawning sycophants at her feet.

The door was irrelevant; that’s what Clint had told him. Mab and the others were already here. There was no going back; they had to find a way to mitigate the damage. Hell, it wasn’t like they didn’t have experience dealing with aliens coming to Earth, nor would Mab’s people be the first to let humans worship and write stories about them. But Bruce didn’t think this was going to end with friendly visits and drinking games.

Becca burbled, a little sound between a sigh and a burp she often made just before she woke. The Other Guy was especially good at decoding every noise and facial expression; he would stir just before she did even when Bruce was in the next room. Slipping a leg off the side of the bed, he worked his hands under the small form and did a quick scoop and grab, rolling her onto his chest before she even realized she’d been moved. Clint’s eyes blinked open; Bruce laid a hand on his bicep, and the lids dropped back to half-mast.

“I’ve got her,” he promised.  An easy stroke of Bruce’s fingers and Clint muttered under his breath.

“I’m getting up,” Clint promised, sounding like a teenager as he wiggled and got more comfortable.

“Take your time,” Bruce told him.

The knock on the door was too perfectly timed to be coincidence. Becca had just finished her formula, half-heartedly sucking the last bit down as the maid wheeled in the silver serving cart, ladened with all the fixings of a full Irish breakfast including rashers and beans. Behind her, Mab strolled in, dressed today in ice blue, another crisp suit. Bruce wondered where she’d gotten her clothes; tailoring like that took time and money.

“I trust you had a good night.” She picked up a cup of tea the maid filled, dropping a sugar cube in it.

“Are you suggesting you don’t know exactly what goes on in this building?” He really wasn’t in the mood to banter; that was more Clint’s brand of negotiation.

“Inside and out,” she confirmed with a laugh. “I was being a gracious host. You humans are so sensitive about your own sexuality; I’ve not forgotten that you don’t talk about it.” She watched as Bruce shifted Becca to his shoulder, patting her back to get her to burp. “And your feelings for your children. So very familial. The kinship bonding ritual of humans is very fascinating. Look what you’re willing to do to protect her and she’s not even your blood. Surprising, considering your primal instincts are much more developed than others.”

“Primal instincts? You make it sound like you admire him.” Bruce knew she was trying to manipulate him, but stroking the Hulk’s ego wasn’t going to work. Not when he knew she wanted to hurt Clint and Becca.

“She does.” Clint wandered in, pants low on his hips and chest still bare, hair sexily tousled like he’d just had Bruce’s fingers running through it. A line of scratches ran across on pectoral muscle and mouth shaped bruises were scattered all over the skin. He looked well and truly fucked, like a man who’d had a hell of a night. “That’s what they are, creatures without a superego.  Do you even have relationships? Marriage? Bonding? Mates?”

“We make alliances, and yes, I respect Dr. Banner’s alter ego. Such power aimed for the sole purpose of survival. The perfect personification of rage.” Her eyes never left Clint as he sauntered to where Bruce sat and perched on the arm of the chair.

“Hey, greedy girl. Did you fill that belly again?” Clint leaned over and kissed her head. “You have kids, Mab? Do you …”

“Procreate,” Bruce supplied. “All races have to or they die out. Given the sexual aspect of this ritual, I suspect cell division is out, however. Mab’s already noted how long-lived their species is, so I imagine they rarely produce off spring to control population levels … unless, of course, that’s why they need to open the doorway back to Earth.”

“Such a good host, you’d make, Dr. Banner; intelligence **and** raw strength. A waste,” she shook her head as if she hadn’t planned on taking him without his consent. “You are correct; children are few and raised by the courts rather than a family structure. What’s the phrase Wanda heard? Oh, yes, it takes a village. Without the parental bond, we are more likely to make decisions that benefit the whole.”

“So your people don’t fall in love? Stay together? You just make a contract then bang who you want to?” Clint asked. “Just so we’re clear, there’s no jealous husband or ex-lover to come after me, is there?”

“Darling, I think you’re the one with the lover to worry about. No one would dare go against my wishes; what I want, I get.” She pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket and laid it on the serving tray. “Your schedule for the day. My people will make sure you’re prepared the way I prefer. And if you have any requests, to ensure your comfort, feel free to ask. It’s always best if you are relaxed.”

“A massage? Sea salt body scrub? Sauna time?” Clint looked at the list. “Where’s the champagne and strawberries? Do I get an ‘I’m the sacrifice’ t-shirt?”

Her face hardened. “Do not mistake me, Clinton Barton. You do not amuse me; we have a business deal and that is all.”

“One you’ll do everything possible to get out of. Don’t mistake _me_ , Mab; I have no intention of going quietly into that good night. You’re already pushing it running the trigger beam. Still working on the kids, I see. Twenty-four more hours make a difference?” Clint’s hand slipped down onto Bruce’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“Daria, dear.” Mab ignored Clint’s words and stood, calling to the woman in the second bedroom. “Pack up the children. I’ll have the car brought around and tickets waiting at the airport back to New York.  Unless, of course, you’d prefer to have them go straight to your people on the ground here? I imagine your scientists will wish to examine them before they go back to their parents. If Dr. Danvers takes them, it will certainly streamline the process.”

“Why?” Bruce had to ask, trying not to react to the fact Mab knew the whereabouts of their friends. “Why would you give them up?”

“Consider it a good faith offer,” Mab answered with a shrug.

“Translation, they’ve served their purpose and you’ve put them off limits, so they’re not useful any more. Doesn’t cost her anything to give them up.” Natasha followed Daria into the room, a two-year-old girl in her arms. “I’ll check the car for explosives and trackers before they leave.”

“Why don’t you go with them? Make sure you get there safely,” Clint said. The look Natasha turned on him was one Bruce knew all too well. It was her ‘don’t be an idiot Clint, of course I’ve got your back’ arched eyebrow. Natasha wasn’t going to leave Clint to face this without her. “Fine. It was worth a try,” Clint shrugged.

“I’ll give you a moment to say goodbye to your child,” Mab said. “Such sentiment is  … alien to me.”

“Becca’s staying.” If there was one thing Bruce knew they all agreed on, it was that Becca wasn’t leaving their sight. Between the four of them – Clint, Natasha, Bruce, and the Hulk – Becca was safer in their arms. No way she was leaving with an unknown woman.

“As you will,” Mab nodded, obviously happy with the turn of events. “Enjoy your son, Daria. Our business is concluded.” She swept out of the room with a lingering backwards glance at Bruce and Clint, sitting together in the chair.

“We should tell Hank and Carol to check the kids,” Bruce suggested. “That was too easy.”

“She’s got what she wants,” Natasha said. “Clint and Becca and you. She can afford to be magnanimous … but if it were me, those kids would already be hosts for my people. Sleepers.”

“She only thinks she has everything,” Clint clarified. “She’s about to find out she doesn’t.”

* * *

 

Hulk hovered just behind the Little Guy, watching everything. The bugs were back, crawling on his skin, not as many, but enough to make him itch all over. He couldn’t rest or sit still; he wanted to burst out and go on a rampage. He’d have done it already but Cupid needed him and he was supposed to protect Becca. That’s what he did, protect, the whole reason he existed at all. The Little Guy had been scared when he was a kid, just like Becca was now. The Hulk could feel how anxious the little girl was; even at her young age, she could pick up on the tension around her. 

That’s how the Hulk came to be; the little boy cowering in his bed, hiding in the shadows behind locked doors, needing someone bigger, stronger, someone not afraid of the monster in the house and the bullies in the school yard. For years, Hulk stayed in the Little Guy’s mind, before the flames and pain and smashing, long periods of running and screams and watching the Little Guy make his way from place to place, growing weary and lost and always being alone. 

Then things changed. Red came for him, Metal Head joked with the Little Guy, talked about the Hulk as if he was good, and Blondie took every punch with a laugh. And the Hulk, who didn’t even know there could be anything different, wanted more. He’d seen Cupid on that street, grinning at him, and, for the first time in a long time, the Hulk tried. He listened to Starman, smashed the creepy aliens, caught Metal Head, and was called a superhero. Little Guy stayed, kissed Cupid, got happier, and started letting the Hulk out, sharing. The Hulk learned control, moved in with Cupid, fought with the others, and got to help kids. He even got to cuddle now that he wasn’t always so big and rock their baby to sleep. Sure, there were still bad guys who tried to hurt him, but the Hulk wasn’t alone anymore and, now that the Little Guy could see and hear what the Hulk did, he wasn’t even really two parts. Four; they were four.

That’s why he could do this, watch as they got Cupid ready. Why he was holding on tight to Becca – he’d refused to let her go, they’d all agreed – and keeping Red close, not being separated from Cupid. The Little Guy promised it would be okay. Clint promised. Red was here. Even Becca hummed her acceptance in his ear, her tiny little thread tied up with theirs. It was going to be okay, the Hulk repeated to himself.

And if it wasn’t, he was going to be to take out the Queen Bitch. Because that’s what he did. Protect.


	7. The Black Gate Opens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deals have been made and now the bill is coming due ... will Clint's plan work? Or will they all be in danger?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter. I knew from the end of the first story in this trilogy how this chapter would go, but when I sat down to write it, turned out to be harder than I thought. Go figure.

NOW

Two men stumbled out of the darkness, hands tied behind their backs, and were pushed down on their knees next to Bruce. Glazed eyes didn’t focus, but the light of the arc reactor shone blue amid the firelight. Tony’s head dropped down on his bare chest and only Steve’s shoulder kept him from slumping over.

“No. We had an agreement,” Clint protested. He could see the worry in Steve’s eyes, the caked blood on Tony’s temple. Steve contained meant they’d threatened Tony, Mab’s go-to way to get what she wanted. If Steve had a weakness, it was his overdeveloped need to protect his team … and Tony was much more than a team member.

“Of course we do. Your family is safe from our control.” This time she did smile, and Clint’s blood ran cold. “But they’re not related to you by blood, my dear boy. Words matter. Now, which of these two fine specimens shall we begin with?”

She stopped behind them, ever aware of her framing as if she was always thinking of photo opportunities. Running a hand through Tony’s hair, she yanked his head up; dark brown eyes were dilated, staring ahead. Drugged then; Clint didn’t think either Tony or Steve would give one of Mab’s people permission but he didn’t know what had happened before they were brought here to this place. They were all arranged in a clearing near the underground barrow of an ancient Irish queen who had sacrificed her life to shut the passage between worlds centuries ago.

“Stop it.” Steve told her; that was his Captain America voice, the one he used when talking to villains, the one people jumped to obey. “Leave him alone.”

“Oh my dear,” she laughed. “I’ve just started.” Fingers stroked down Tony’s neck and he didn’t flinch as nails scraped along his skin and circled the blowing blue circle in his chest.  “Such a fragile thing, the human body. Truly, but for this technology, he would be dead.” She tightened her hold as if to rip it out of Tony’s chest.

“You do that and the deal’s off,” Clint growled, pulling at his restraints as Steve struggled with his own bonds.

“And I’ll have your family to do with as I will.”  She was so calm, red nails tapping on the metal. “The answer is simple. Do as I ask and you’ll survive this.”

“What do you want?” Steve asked, but Clint already knew. He’d been expecting this twist; Mab was too much of a sadist to do the deed herself. No, she’d want to watch the most suffering possible on all sides. She might have promised to leave them alone after this was over, but she’d do her damnedest to make sure there were lasting effects that would tear them apart.

“Why, for you to be my agent, of course. Clint has a preference for men, and, well, the connection of flesh to flesh carries the power more effectively.” A reptilian smile split her face as she revealed her first card.

“No, no, no,” Steve protested, turning his pleading eyes toward Clint for support. “I won’t do that.”

“It’s okay, Steve.” Bruce spoke from his place by Mab’s seat. “I’d rather it be you than the bitch over there.”

“Clint?” Steve’s eyes flitted between the two.

“State it explicitly,” Clint warned. “Exactly what you want in return. She’ll uphold her end of the bargain but only to the letter of her word.”

“But you’re … I don’t want to …” Steve stumbled over his meaning, but Clint understood.

“Not like we haven’t talked about it, right?” Clint joked, trying to convey his acceptance to Steve. “Only problem’s going to be Tony; he’ll be jealous he didn’t get his shot at my ass.”

“ ‘s right,” Tony slurred, trying to focus. “Too … can’t get it up anyhow. Promise later … get my chance to do … more than watch.”

“Tony, are you okay?” Steve bent his head, checking Tony’s eyes.

“If this bitch’d get her hands off me …” Tony swayed, almost falling over. “Not as good a trip as that shit I got back in the 70s but, damn …”

“Here’s the deal,” Steve said, looking Mab square in the eye. “Tony, me, Bruce, Natasha, Becca, and Clint. We walk out of here, alive and unharmed in any way, physical, mental, spiritual. You and any minion/servant, human or not, never bother us again either by direct or indirect action.”

“And if you attack me? Am I to simply stand by and allow such aggression? If attacked, I will retaliate.” She snarled, her upper lip curling as she sank her nails into Tony’s neck drawing little lines of blood. “You ask too much. I will find another.”

“One who’ll bring as much humiliation? No, you want me because I’m his and Bruce’s friend. That makes the spell more powerful, right? The connection between us?” Steve was on firmer ground now, arguing with the villain. He was good at it, facing them down and cutting through their bullshit. “Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” she snapped, pulling away from Tony, leaving Steve to use his body to help Tony down to the packed earth of the ground beneath them. “I will not harm those you named, mentally, spiritually, or physically.” She stalked over to Clint and hissed at him, “You and your deals. We’ll see just who is best at this game, little hawk. Unharmed you may be when this is over, but pain I can give you now.”

Her nails wove a pattern across Clint’s back, and the lines of the symbols blazed with icy fire that sank down to his muscles and into his bones. Agonizing, the cold burned; Clint bit his lip until blood ran to keep his groans inside, not willing to give her the satisfaction. As she wrote on his skin, she chanted in a language filled with harsh consonants and short vowels, long words that mirrored the sworls and strokes she was making. The musicians picked up the beat and it became a song, bitter and stinging like the North wind bringing a storm. The barometric pressure dropped and Clint felt the change in his head, ears swelling shut, sinus passages pounding, eyes watering. He’d been tortured, had survived much worse, but this felt like she was sinking into his chest and pushing her way to his very heart, filling up his ribcage with snow and sleet.

“Clint.” In the middle of the building maelstrom, he heard Bruce’s voice and forced his eyes open. Blue grey met deep brown, a lifeline to a place of calm; leaving his body behind, he slipped across the bridge of their gazes and settled into the warm arms waiting for him, wrapping him in love. “I’ve got you,” Bruce murmured. “We’re here.”

Through Bruce’s field of vision, he could see Steve levered up by two of Mab’s men and put in position. They freed his hands and Steve hesitated, quick calculation of the odds of success flitting across his face, but two others had taken up places by Tony and Steve was too far away.

“Damn you,” Steve said to Mab. “People like you always get their comeuppance. Always.”

Clint laughed, and he could feel the motion of his body as he did, could see the sound fall from his mouth. “See? You can teach an old dog new tricks,” he said or mumbled between pants of breath as he fought through the waves of pain. Both in his own head and with Bruce, Clint could see the energy rising off his skin, could feel the frigid power cracking him open from the inside out.

“Seriously? You’re going to joke now?” Steve’s lopsided grin was aimed Clint’s way. “We’re about to be the main attraction and piss the Hulk off while letting a whole race of crazy aliens who want to use humans as meat suits come through that doorway.”

“Just setting the mood,” Clint said. “Come on Cap. Let’s do this. Already slicked up and ready for you. Bruce helped. This is one of those ‘you can do anything you want without repercussion’ situations, like a time loop or something. ”

“Fuck.” That got a full-throated laugh from Steve. “And here I thought I would have trouble being … prepared … and you go and bring up that memory.”

“It’s a damn good one.” Clint dragged in a deep breath as Mab’s hands left him as she came around to his head. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she tilted him up to look at her. “We done here?” Clint asked her. “Cause I’m pretty much ready to get on with it.”

“You think sharing with your lover is enough to protect you? How exactly do you think the gate opens, darling?” Her palms heated and Clint could swear he could smell the searing of skin from where part of him waited behind Bruce’s eyes. “You may mount him now,” she directed Steve.

“Um, yeah, give me a minute here.” Steve stroked himself, not having much luck. “Not used to performing for an audience if you know what I mean. You have lube and a condom, right?”

The pain stopped as she took her hands away. “Bronnagsh!” she called. “Find what our good captain needs and bring it. Hurry. Time is ticking away.” A slim man with chocolate colored skin darted into the shadows, disappearing quickly down the path. “The drugs we gave you should make you able to perform,” she said, clearly angry.

“I metabolize drugs very quickly,” Steve explained with a bashful shrug. “Now, if you hadn’t drugged up Tony so much, he could help.”

“Do I have to do everything?” She stormed away and yanked Tony up by his chin until his feet were dangling above the ground, her arm stretched above her head. With a touch to the center of his forehead, Tony sputtered and jerked out of her grasp, falling back to the ground with a thud.

“What the fuck?!” He pushed himself upright and glared at Mab. “Jesus Christ, you are a piece of work, aren’t you?” Then he glanced behind her and took in the tableau. “Holy shit, a naked ritual orgy? And you started without me? Boys, I am so annoyed. Has anyone called pole position?” He looked over to Natasha, the only one of them clothed, standing guard over Becca’s carrier. “Okay, girls are not allowed, got it. I can handle that.”

“Tony.” Steve’s admonition was tinged with fondness. “I could use a little help here. Think we can skip the commentary until we’re finished?”

“Got it. One Steve sandwich coming up. Hands?” He wiggled his restrained wrists; at Mab’s nod, one of the men cut him free. Rubbing his wrists, Tony walked over and patted Clint on the ass before he slipped behind Steve and wrapped an arm around his waist. “If this finds its way to youtube, man, we’re going to explode the internet.” His fingers curled around Steve’s half-hard cock. “So what’s the objective? And why does Katniss have math problems written on his back?”

“The simple version?” Mab was back, her hands around Clint’s face again. “Biometric energy created during intercourse mingled with gamma and stellar radiation unlocks the door between our dimensions.”

“Ah. Got it. I get Steve up, he fucks Clint, and you let your friends join the party. Gonna need some supplies for this to work. Do you people dry hump? A little lubrication would make this easier.” As Tony spoke, the man Mab sent came running back up, hands filled with a couple boxes of condoms and tubes.

“Here,” she tossed them onto Clint’s back as if he was nothing more than a table. “We have seven minutes and 23 seconds before the window opens. I’m assuming you can last that long?”

The pain was low grade at first, like a bad wind burn, a familiar feeling from all the times Clint had been on a perch in the freezing cold. Only Bruce’s mental warmth kept him from shivering as Steve grabbed one of his hips and lifted him up. Slick fingers slipped inside, one then two and, even with Bruce’s view partially blocked by Mab, Clint could see Tony working on Steve’s cock as Steve opened him up, rolling down a condom. Then Steve was pressing in and Mab increased the flow of energy into Clint; for the two breaths it took for Steve to slide fully in, ice crackled through Clint’s body, writhing with the markings on his back. The cold filled his chest cavity just as Steve filled him but Mab didn’t stop, the pressure growing tighter and tighter until there was no place left for Clint to go.

But the magic, or whatever it was, also opened up the thread between Clint and Bruce; reaching back, Clint latched onto the bright aura of Steve, golden and strong, and the smaller tendril of glowing blue, and pulled them with him as he was blasted out of his own body by Mab’s power.

“What the …?” Tony tumbled naked onto the king sized bed. “Bruce? Um, where are we?”

“Far as I can tell, it’s a mental dimension, a projection of brain waves created to provide a safe haven for the mind. I think the gamma radiation enhanced …” Bruce began but Clint lifted his head from where it rested on Bruce’s shoulder and interrupted.

“Short answer. We’re in Bruce’s brain; Mab’s magic, the nannites, enhancements, and drugs she’s given us makes it possible. Mab shoved me out of my body so she can use me as a conduit; I expected it so I dragged you with me,” Clint explained. “Thing is, she promised her people would leave us alone after the door was opened … but there’s more than just her kind on the other side and she made no such promises about them. Monsters out of mythology. And if they happen to take us out in their haste to get here? Not her fault.”

“So we call this off.” Steve shifted, uncomfortable, still highly aroused, a slight sheen of sweat on his chest. “We can’t let things like that loose on this world.”

“We break the deal, we’re far game. She’ll kill us all and take Becca before we can do anything about it.” Clint dragged a hand down Steve’s arm, catching his wrist and tugging him across the space. “We still have options.”

“You have a plan, you little shit,” Tony protested. “You going to enlighten us?”

“You’ll have to trust me.” Clint winked at him and reached for Tony’s hand as well. “First, we go through with what we promised.”

“Wait.” Tony pulled back. “If we’re in here, what are our bodies doing? Are we just standing there?”

“Close your eyes, Tony,” Bruce said, shifting away as Clint leaned up to capture Steve’s face. “You’ll know. What happens to the body affects the brain and visa versa.”

Clint hadn’t planned for this specific contingency; he’d expected Mab to pull a switch at the last minute, had hoped the energy and the drugs would allow him to make the connection with Bruce so he would be safe. Having Steve and Tony as part of this? Clint was selfish enough to be glad even though it put them in harm’s way. Tugging Steve down, Clint kissed him as the spell Mab was weaving filtered into this haven; a relentless need to be filled, to take Steve’s hard length inside of him, pushed him even as he knew, logically, that it was already happening. Not one to be left out, Tony took the opportunity to arrange them all more comfortably; he coaxed Bruce until he was sitting upright, back against the soft fabric headboard, Clint laying across Bruce’s chest, legs spread over Bruce’s. As Bruce slid his legs open, Steve settled between them, lifting Clint’s hips so his hard cock could press past the tight muscle and into Clint. A little jostling and Steve found his purchase to begin to thrust his hips up. Bruce held Clint tight, his nose buried in the curve of Clint’s neck, each movement of Steve’s rocking Clint’s ass over Bruce’s cock.

Clint lost the thread of what was real and what wasn’t when Tony managed to get close enough and kissed first Clint and then Bruce, the low vibrations of Bruce’s moans thrumming through Clint. Harsh exhales of breath came from Steve as Tony’s hand slipped around his ass. All the while, the power built around them; Clint felt like he’d touched a live wire without being grounded, freezing electricity using his body as a pathway. Desperate for relief, he turned his head away from Tony and Bruce, gasping for air, throwing his arm out to grab onto something, to stop him from slipping away into that current.

A big hand covered his, cradling Clint’s in his palm. Dark brown eyes, tentative and worried, stared at him. “Cupid stay here,” the Hulk said, sitting down on the edge of the big bed, holding onto Clint’s hand.

“Hey, Big Green!” Tony called. “Perfect timing. I’m going to borrow Bruce here for a bit. Can you hold onto Clint?”

He looked askance at Clint first. Nodding, Clint reeled in the now human sized green guy and they all reconfigured, the Hulk taking Bruce’s place against the headboard, cuddling Clint close on his left side as Bruce settled on his right. Surreal, Clint had a moment to register, then he was caught up again with Steve’s hard thrusts, Bruce rocking beside him, too many mouths to kiss and too much skin for hands to caress. Still spinning, but this time in control of the descent, Clint knew the moment the spell took hold; he felt the click inside of him, his ribcage filling as another universe poured through him. Steve’s thrusts grew increasingly ragged; Bruce’s hand circled Clint’s aching cock and Clint reached blindly for his.

“Ready?” he gasped. “Everyone hold on.”

Holding out until he heard the groans from everyone else first, Clint bit his lip, hoped to hell this was going to work, and let himself come.

* * *

 

Bruce blinked his eyes open, unaware he’d closed them. His chest was still heaving, white drops splattered across his legs; he’d come without even touching himself, his hands tied behind him. Veins of green slithered across his body, the Hulk stepping forward, sharing his consciousness. From the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha, fists clenched, muscles ready to spring into action, hunkered down over Becca’s carrier, protecting the baby with her own body. At the altar, Mab shouted, her arms held high, what could only be described as dark lightning dancing around her, sparking over Clint’s body, gathering into a lance that speared the door to the barrow where the darkness split open, stars visible through the opening. Steve slumped over, eyes squeezed shut; Tony was on the ground, only his legs visible from where Bruce knelt.

“Let the way be open! Come forth, those who will, and rule this land once more!” Mab was in complete evil mistress mode, long black hair filled with static and circling her head like a halo.

“About that.” Clint eased up on his elbows, winching at the rough stone, his bonds broken. “Before you go full-on bitch crazy, there’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

“There is nothing you can do, foolish mortal. Listen, even now you can hear the Bean Sidhe’s wail coming for you. Or perhaps the Dearg Due or Balor will take you first. I have no control over them; they are not my people.” She smiled, the great pleasure she would take in watching them die evident. “There are so many who will continue my work; I need only sit back and reap the benefits. All your dealings are for naught, little hawk. You have given me this world for my own. Nothing or no one can stop me.”

“Actually, that’s not a banshee. Pretty damn sure those are hounds. And they’re coming for you.” As Clint levered himself off the altar, the symbols Mab had written on his back began to change, looping around his waist and up his body, sliding down his arms, morphing into bands across his biceps and long chains of scrollwork across his chest. His whole demeanor changed; he grew taller, hair fading into feathers, eyes going dark and stormy.

“No.” Mab stumbled back one step, then two. “No. You can’t be here. Damn you! You can’t stop me. Titania said she would be glad to get rid of me. She will not look kindly on you intervening.”

“Hello to you too, wife of mine,” Herne the Hunter said. He crossed the distance and caught her wrist. “Of course the Queen was more than happy to allow me to follow you; she harbors hope that we can rekindle our relationship.”

“You mean she wants you to keep me under control. What did she promise that would make you stomach the thought of touching me again.” Mab was spitting mad, her power loose and wild, flashing around the clearing. Bruce could see the portal was still open, lines of energy blocking the way for the movement he could see beyond.

“Is it too much to think that I missed you? There were good times, at least in bed. I can remember that.” Herne/Clint smiled, stroking his thumb on the tender skin of the underside of her wrist.

“Truly?”  She grew smaller, deflating a bit. “I remember a string of lovers that you flaunted at court.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. You know my nature.” With a tilt of his head, he smiled at her. “Let’s be honest with each other and begin again.”

“And that bitch is going to let you parade me around under her nose?” Mab laughed, a harsh sound to Bruce’s ears.

“No. You tried to kill her. Twice. And overthrow her at least four times. She’s never going to let you return. But she will let us make a place for ourselves here.” Herne/Clint stepped a little closer, dropping his voice. “It’s a good offer, Mab. Take it.”

“All I have to do is submit to you, correct? With her rules and your iron fist, you’ll keep me under your thumb?” The energy began to spark again, a red glow circling her clenched fists. “You’ll be King of this world and what will I be? Your wife? Hardly a fair trade. No. I will take what is mine and rule as I see fit. You cannot stop me; this body is powerful and whatever deal you made with Clint will constrain you. He broke accord with me when he brought you into this. Now you’ll both pay.”

Bruce struggled then, the Hulk pulling at the magiked bonds; this was the most dangerous moment, when Mab was cornered. With straining muscles, the Hulk snapped the cords and Bruce tensed, ready to lunge into the fray.

“I shall enjoy this, lover. More than any of your pathetic efforts in bed.” Floating upward off the ground, Mab was surrounded by a ball of energy, pulsing with power.  “You had to know I wouldn’t agree. After all, it’s in my nature.”

“Mab. Please. Don’t do this.” Herne/Clint sounded sincere, a certain kind of sadness in his eyes that spoke of long histories. “Whatever you may think of me, I did care for you once.”

“And that is your weakness. Did you learn nothing from your punishment? Hounding the lost forever for the want of soul? You were always beneath me.”

The air in the clearing grew tinged with red as she flexed her power, and Mab’s people ducked for cover. Natasha had the handle of the carrier in her hand and she hid it behind Mab’s throne. Steve pulled himself up and stood his ground behind Herne, Tony on his left. And the Hulk came out, growing to his full size, big fist ready to smack the woman about to hurt Clint.  Like a ripple, a wave washed out from her and things … changed. Packed earth gave way to Persian carpet, stone altar to ornate dining room table, the doorway to the barrow now a set of French doors.

“Enough is enough,” she said. “I am Mab, Queen of Winter, and you are all just ice beneath my feet.”

Another burst, this time aimed right at Herne/Clint; a bolt of red lined with silvery white jumped from her outstretched hands, blasting outward. Steve jumped forward, pushing Tony out of the way, but didn’t have his shield. The Hulk roared … and the magic sputtered, dissipating harmlessly around Herne/Clint. Mab fell, landing on her knees on the forest floor, staring at her hands as the light went out.

“What have you done?” she asked, looking up. “What have you done!”

“I’ve done nothing. You made a deal; Clint opened the door, upholding his end. You cannot hurt him.” That little smirk, the one Bruce knew so well, turned up the corners of Herne’s mouth.

“He broke it first, letting you in.” Her hands were shaking; a rivulet of blood ran from her nose and her ear.

“I was already here. You never asked him if he knew any others of our kind, darling, and he didn’t offer the information. Face it, he beat you at your own game.”

“Fine.” She drew herself up but couldn’t hide the way her limbs were trembling with the effort. “I will stay here, diminish. You can tell Titania that I yield.”

“Not in that body you won’t,” Bruce said. “We checked Wanda’s background. You brought her parents together so she, her brother and her sister would be born. And you didn’t count on Wanda being as powerful as she is.”

“NO!” Mab grabbed her head with her hands, pressing tightly. “Stop it, you wretched child. I gave you power just like you wanted!”

“In fact, we’re all off limits aren’t we? Steve and Natasha have been genetically engineered. All your people are in mutants; messing with the natural development of genetic patterns means everyone who -has developed abilities or has the genetic make up for it are out-of-bounds. Tony’s arc reactor wouldn’t count, but Fiske dosed him with the nannites and that’s interference.” Bruce pressed home the point, shrinking back down to human size as he spoke. Clint had been right; she was trapped with few options. “You’d need a willing plain old vanilla human; I don’t see any around here. So get the hell out of her and take your friends with you.”

She glared defiantly at them all. “You have no idea,” she whispered, struggling to say the words, “what you’ve invited into your midst. The Great Hunter of Souls walks the Earth again. You deserve each other.”

Before anyone could react, she dropped her head back, mouth open in a silent scream as blue-white light poured out, coalescing into a ball that floated above the altar. All her men fell as well, smaller energy balls gathering in the air.  Brighter and brighter she spun, angry tendrils shooting off like wayward strands of lightning.

“See, here’s another thing you didn’t think of, Mab.” Heedless of the flying static, Herne/Clint walked up to her. “The one who opens the door controls it; you know that. And we can make it do what we want.”

With a wave of his hand, a wind spun up and pushed her and the others towards the Barrow and the gaping maw of the portal, sucking them all in with a sickeningly juicy pop. Fighting against the onslaught of the storm that now barreled out of the other dimension, icy wind and a dangerous riptide yanking on them all, Herne/Clint made it over to the doorway and began to draw symbols on the rocks walls of the burial chamber. With each new one on the door, one disappeared from Herne/Clint’s skin, and the wind began to die down. Finally, he finished one last curve and the door blinked shut, gone as if it never existed.

For a few heartbeats, no one moved in the sudden stillness. Then one of the fallen bodies groaned, and Bruce started towards Herne/Clint. Natasha beat him there, her gun out, held absolutely still, pointed right at Herne/Clint’s head.

“Get out of him.” She didn’t so much as budge when Herne/Clint turned to face her. “Now.”

“Don’t worry, I shall leave Clint, but you’ll understand if I feel the need to get him to safety first. When I leave, he will need care. He’s drained and, had his soul not been so stubborn, he would not have survived the ordeal of opening the door. Let me get you all back to the manor house.” Herne stood his ground. “I have made a promise to a great champion, a great scholar, and a great warrior. Unlike Mab, I keep my word.”

“You were married to that train wreck?” Tony had to ask. It was nice, actually, to have that much normalcy at the moment. “And you’re alive to tell the tale? Balls of steel, man.”

“More than you know. And, to clarify, I was not always beneath her,” Herne/Clint grinned.

“Oh, dude, I think I like you. Assuming you’re not a crazy power-hungry faerie type. Although, the orgy thing, we can keep that.” Tony nudged Steve’s shoulder.

“Actually, if we can find the person who teleported us here, that would be a good way to get everyone back. I believe it was the gentleman with the green polo shirt.” Steve covered his blush by taking the lead. “Getting back is the priority.”

“And clothes,” Natasha added. “I’ve seen enough of your penises for one night, thank you very much. And if you say a word, Tony, I will shoot you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I forgot about Herne, eh? Nope. If you haven't read the other stories, he's been setting this up from the getgo. Lots of little threads left to tie up, but if you're interested, Herne the Hunter is a real English folk story. My favorite version is in Susan Cooper's The Dark Is Rising Series, although I have to say I enjoy any where Herne is the leader of the great hunt that rides on All Hallow's Eve.


	8. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yep. A nice nap is in order. Be right back. Don’t get started without me.” Tony swung his legs over the edge, stood up, Becca firmly in his grasp, and headed out the door.
> 
> “But … we should …” Clint began. Bruce slid their joined hands down until they could wind their fingers in Steve’s hair.
> 
> “Cupid sleep,” the Hulk growled quietly. With a huff and a shift of his body, Bruce settled Clint more comfortably against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thanks for sticking with me through this trilogy. I love writing for these three guys .. and now Becca too ... and have many more stories in my head for them. Next up will be a couple of short one chapter pieces that tie up some loose ends and let the boys have some happiness before the next longer trial begins. First will be the Hulk's Day Out told entirely from the Hulk's point of view for the Fluffathon. Nothing better than some big green fluffy feelings, eh?

“You going to laze about all day?”

Tony’s voice penetrated Clint’s groggy mind; limbs heavy and head throbbing, it took all of his energy just to get his eyes open.  “It’s my honeymoon. What the hell are you doing in my bed and how much did I drink last night?”

“He’s fine,” Tony shouted at the next room. Wasn’t a hangover then; Clint’s head didn’t explode at the increase in volume. He did the standard set of tests – flex his toes and fingers, clench muscles, take a deep breath – but the only pain he felt was lethargy and exhaustion.

“Hey,” Bruce came through the doorway, a steaming delicate cup in his hand. He settled on the bed next to Clint and offered it to him. “Coffee?”

“God, yes.” He pushed up and it took a lot more effort than it should have, but one whiff and his mind began clear, memory floating back. “I take it things worked out then?”

“Beat Judge Judy by miles.” Tony grinned. “Can’t believe I almost missed it. And you, leaving me out of the big sex finale in your plan? You’re off the Christmas card list for good.”

“Mab’s gone and the door’s secured, at least as much as we can figure.” Bruce leaned back against the headboard, and Clint took the opportunity to rest against his chest. “Charles Xavier is on his way to help with the kids; so far we’ve found a couple of their parents and Phil’s tracking down the circumstances of the others’ births. Mab’s people had taken nine hosts, and, unfortunately, the humans weren’t as … accommodatingly as Herne did for you. Some of them are in bad shape, unconscious with who knows what mental damage; Charles is bringing Jean Grey with him. He’ll offer the mutants training and aid at his school.”

“Wanda?” The coffee was hot and rich; each sip helped wake Clint up further. He began to warm from Bruce’s furnace of a body. “Did she …”

“Kicked Mab’s ass to the curb.” Tony sounded very impressed. “She’s with Carol, working out plans to find her brother. I’m thinking we take her back to the Tower with us until we locate him.”

“And Becca?” Clint passed his cup over to Bruce to set it on the end table after he drained the last drop.

“Too young to be as traumatized as me,” Natasha said, entering the room. The instance Becca saw her fathers, she held out her hands and leaned out of Natasha’s arms. Bruce reached up and took her as soon as Natasha was near enough. Dragging over a chair, Natasha sat down and kicked her boots up on the edge of the bed. “At least you’re dressed this morning. I saw far too much male-on-male action last night.”

“Now, now, JARVIS knows you have _Brokeback Mountain_ on your DVD queue,” Tony joked. “Come on, admit it, you were all hot and bothered by this ass, don’t deny it.”

“Oh, yes, Tony, I get off on watching my friends rut in the middle of a magical storm. Add a baby in to protect and you’ve got all my boxes checked.” Natasha was getting just as snarky with Tony as she was with Clint. Progress. That’s what it was. “Someone had to watch Mab since you were too busy feeling up Clint while he was out of it.”

“Hey! I would never do that,” Tony protested. “Steve, hell yes, but that’s because I have permission to have carte blanche on that piece of perfection. He’s sleeping with me on a regular basis. And Clint invited me. Honest. In his head or Bruce’s head or … hell I don’t know where we were but it was definitely consensual.”

From Tony’s tone, Clint could tell he was actually getting upset. “Chill, Tony. She’s just yanking your chain. We’re fine.”

“I knew that.” Tony shrugged, but Clint would have to deal with this later. Beneath his hard metal shell, Tony Stark never felt he was good enough, a legacy from his father. Clint hadn’t been a good friend lately, leaving Tony out of his equations because he was trying to protect him; that was going to change starting now.  “Besides there were too many people inside you already. Sounded crowded in there.”

“Well, I was the Gatekeeper,” Clint laughed. Becca grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked. She’s learned to use her fingers more delicately; everything was fair game to her little hand. “Guess that makes Steve the Keymaster.”

“And the chick was toast,” Steve quipped as he joined them. “Tony loves that movie; one of his go-to flicks when he’s laid up in bed.”

“Speaking of bed.” Tony patted the king size mattress. “You haven’t slept. Don’t think I didn’t notice your side was empty last night.”

“Oh ho, the tables turn, Cap,” Clint teased, voice easy and light. “Give Stark here an inch, and he’ll be flying you to Paris or Madrid for lunch.”

“Xavier will be landing in less than twenty minutes,” Steve ignored the ribbing, but he sank down next to Tony. Clint nudged Steve’s knee through the covers and grinned; Steve’s answering smile made Clint’s worries slip away on that count. “That just leaves a couple of loose ends.”

“You want to know where Herne is and if he’s still riding pinion on my ass?” That, Clint knew, was the question of the hour. “We had a deal; we shut the door, he gets to stay but not in me.”

“So … are we playing where’s Herne?” Tony poked Clint in the side. “Spill, Legolas."

“Anybody checked on Barney lately?” Clint exchanged a look with Bruce over Becca’s head.

“He left sometime while we were gone,” Natasha supplied, not looking at all surprised.

“Barney?” Steve asked, incredulous. “Herne’s in your brother?”

“Why?” Tony demanded. “He had to agree, right? You arranged it all before you left, you dog. Right under her nose.”

“When Mab didn’t take Barney as a host, I knew something was up. He was her backup just in case I couldn’t be bullied into doing the deed. Dose him with nannites, accelerate his mutation and he might survive,” Clint explained. “She was counting on us being siblings for it to work. Barney and I, despite our troubles, have a connection; remember what Xavier said about those emotional ties? Barn and I went through some really bad times together. Years don’t break those types of bonds.”

He grabbed Becca as she started to roll over, shifting her down to the open mattress space; laying her on her back, she immediately rolled over to her stomach and looked up. “Da, da, da, da, da, da, da,” she babbled.

“Pa,” Clint tried to get her to make the sound. “Pa, pa, pa, pa.”

“Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da,” she replied, grinning and drooling before she caught Tony’s pants and began to gnaw on the denim seam.

“Well, we know who she likes best.” Tony scooped her up and held her out, feet dangling. “Good taste, kid. In dads, not jeans.” She squealed and kicked her feet, her fingers curling in Tony’s goatee and yanking hard.

“Hey!” Tony tried to get Steve to take her, but all he got was a smile and a shake of head. So he turned Becca around and sat her on his lap; she immediately jammed her fist in her mouth and began sucking on her fingers.

“You knew about Barney?” Steve asked Clint and Bruce; they both nodded. “And you’re okay with it?”

“He made his own choice,” Clint shrugged. In a strange way, he could understand his brother’s motivations. Barney was always looking for the easy way out, the big payday that he didn’t have to work for. He never thought through the implications far enough, though. Herne would be Barney’s answer to all his problems; big bad alien who could settle Barney’s scores, make him wealthy and powerful, at least that’s how Barney would see it. “Barn gets the respect he’s always wanted. Herne gets Barney’s knowledge of some pretty bad men. That’s what Herne does, chase down those who are foolish enough to sell their souls for the wrong reasons.”

“The Great Hunt,” Bruce added, absently rubbing his hands along Clint’s arms. “Drives the souls of the damned across the skies on All Hallow’s Eve. When they catch them, the soul has the choice of death or joining the hunt to redeem themselves. At least that’s how the story goes.”

“And Barney’s got a long list of people who fit Herne’s profile. Can’t say I mind all that much.” Clint caught one of Bruce’s hands in his, twining their fingers together.

“And what’s to stop Herne from opening the door and letting his buddies through?” Steve asked.

“Me. Two of us shut it, we both have to be there to open it.” Clint watched Tony jiggle his leg to settle Becca; Tony might pretend to be uncomfortable about her, but he was falling pretty fast under the spell of her blue eyes. “And, before you ask, if I die, the whole ritual has to be undertaken again and it will be centuries before everything is aligned. Like the Queen who’s buried in the Barrow; that’s how she shut it before.”

“Now we have to see just how much damage Mab did. We’re still cleaning up the mess Fisk made by sharing his discoveries with every crazy group out there who loves and hates mutants. And there’s Betty and Janet and Ross to deal with.” Bruce tensed at the thought of all they had to yet to do.

“And a big party that never got underway. I imagine Pep fed the SI workers well with the leftovers. Don’t think you guys are getting out of your obligations just because some bitch tried to take over the world. Hell, if we used that as an excuse none of us would ever get anything done, right Steve?” Tony nudged Steve whose eyelids had started to droop.

“Right,” the sleepy man agreed before he flagged again.

“Yeah, about that,” Clint started.

“You’re already married,” Steve finished, stretching out across the bed and using Clint’s thigh as a pillow. “We know. Tony just wants an excuse to throw a party.”

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t say a word,” Natasha said when Clint did just that. She climbed on the bed and curled up by Steve. “Been a long 48 hours. I’m going to take a nap. Becca needs another bottle at 2 p.m. Tony.”

“Wait, you’re not upset?” Clint couldn’t get over their reactions to his announcement. Tony at least should be arguing with him. “We jumped the gun and even had our wedding night without telling you?”

“Who do you think suggested the apartment to Pepper? I took Steve to the opposite penthouse when we … oof.” Tony’s voice cut off as Steve kicked him. “Yeah, right, look, we can understand, okay? If anyone knows what a media circus is like, it’s me. But we’re celebrating when we get back. Big blow out. All night. Soon as everyone gets some sleep. Can’t have a wild not-a-bachelor party when you just want to crash.”

Clint was getting tired again for some reason. “I should get up before Xavier gets here,” Clint started.

“You almost died, Clint,” Bruce mumbled in his ear. Looking over his shoulder, Clint realized that Bruce was half-gone himself. “Carol’s here. Phil’s here. Hank. Charles soon. We can afford to take a break.”

 “Yep. A nice nap is in order. Be right back. Don’t get started without me.” Tony swung his legs over the edge, stood up, Becca firmly in his grasp, and headed out the door.

“But … we should …” Clint began. Bruce slid their joined hands down until they could wind their fingers in Steve’s hair.

“Cupid sleep,” the Hulk growled quietly. With a huff and a shift of his body, Bruce settled Clint more comfortably against him.

Who was he to fight it? Steve was a warm weight on his thigh. Bruce’s breathing evened out and grew steady, heartbeat thumping both against Clint’s skin and inside his head. Natasha’s hand was around his ankle. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, the moments ticking past in quiet.

Just as he was about to slip under, the bed dipped and Clint cracked his eyelids to see Tony sitting down next to Steve. Without thinking about it, Clint held out his free arm, the invitation obvious. Tony rested his head on Clint’s chest, one arm sliding under Clint’s back, the other down to join the hands in Steve’s hair. Wrapping his arm around Tony, Clint caught the movement of Steve’s hand over to Tony’s hip before he dozed off, content and perfectly safe.

~_~

Pans of garlic bread fresh from the oven lined the bar, interspersed with trays of lasagna, manicotti, and other pasta dishes. A whole separate table held an array of cupcakes from Billy’s, and Bruce couldn’t keep the blush off his face when Clint eyed a chocolate one and winked. And, of course, there was tiramisu, rectangular pans full, cut into squares big enough that even Thor said something about their size.

Maggie had closed up for the party, so they’d picked a Monday night when the dining rush was the smallest. Her family was there, serving but mingling as well. Despite his reservations, Bruce was having a good time; they’d kept the guest list small and the party talk to a dull roar. He saw a number of scientists and techs he worked with in his lab, some of Clint’s friends from SHIELD, and a few of the SI people who worked in the Tower. Every one of them were familiar faces and that helped the Hulk deal with the press of bodies.

“What say we blow this popsicle stand and find a quiet place for me to rip that suit off you?” Clint murmured in to Bruce’s ear, coming up behind him. Two people over, Steve cocked his eyebrow and smothered a grin. Friends with superhearing. It was a problem.

“Da, da, da, da,” Becca pushed her torso away from Bruce to turn towards the sound of Clint’s voice.

“She’s going to be awfully confused if we’re both Daddy,” Clint joked offering her a finger to hold onto. She clamped her tiny digits around it and dragged it right into her mouth.

“She’ll get there.” Bruce wished he had a camera to catch the look of absolute love as Clint gazed at his granddaughter. “D is just an easier consonant to pronounce than P.”

“There’s my little passerotta!” Maggie swooped in on them, her white apron around her floral dress. “Come to Nonni.”

Becca went right into her outstretched arms with the unerring sense all babies have to identify those who will give them everything they want. Her purple dress had a green ribbon around her waist, tied in a big bow that matched the little ones on her white sweater. She’d lost one white shoe already and the sock was hanging precariously on her toes; Bruce tugged it back into place. “Na, na, na, na,” Becca said in Maggie’s direction.

“She said Nona! See? She knows which side of her bread is buttered on. Come, dear heart, I have a treat for you.” Maggie jiggled up and down as she stood. “To celebrate your fathers’ tying the knot.”

“She’s not on solid food yet,” Bruce warned, but Maggie just beamed back at him.

“I’ve raised seven babies and have twelve grandchildren. I know how to feed her as well as I know how to feed your big green side.” She arched an eyebrow. “A little taste won’t hurt, dear.”

“Phil’s on babysitting duty tonight,” Clint put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder as they watched Maggie; she swiped a finger in icing of a cupcake and put it in Becca’s mouth. Blue grey eyes widened and she popped her lips, looking for more. “He can handle it.” 

“It’s not good for her to have sugar this early; she needs to develop a taste for vegetables first.” Bruce had read a very interesting study that said children who started with savory tastes were less likely to get Alzheimer’s and diabetes later on.

“Come on, Doc, it’s a party. Live a little.” Clint was close enough for Bruce to feel the heat of his body. “Look, she’s already moved on a bit of marinara. She’s just going to give her little tastes, not let Becca eat a whole cupcake.”

“She really shouldn’t have anything but formula …” Bruce started to argue the point, but Clint was right. Maggie had already lost Becca to Darcy who was dancing around to some music playing on Jane’s phone.

“Congratulations.” Janet Van Dyne stopped next to Bruce, raising her voice to be heard as the room got noisier. “Love the earrings by the way. Great idea.”

Self-consciously, Bruce touched his earlobe where the amethyst was securely in place. “Still getting used to it,” he admitted. “Makes me feel like I’m back in college; remember that little hoop Betty talked me into getting? Thought I was pretty cool.”

“You’re still cool, Doc,” Clint promised. “Can’t believe I’m going home with the sexiest guy in the room.”

“God, you two are too cute. Bruce, you’re blushing!” Janet laughed. “Betty told me to give you a kiss for her. She and Glenn are out on the West coast.” Standing up on her tiptoes, she kissed Bruce on the cheek then gave another quick buss to Clint. “Betty’s doing well; Glenn’s got her practicing meditation and yoga.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Bruce still had hopes for finding a cure for Betty’s form of radiation exposure; her case was different than his, had been brought on by nannites and Bruce intended to find a way to use the same little devices to save her. “And you? Still nothing?”

“Hank says my DNA shows markers, but I’m the same old me.” She shrugged and snagged a glass of wine from a passing waiter.  “Maybe a little more bossy. Dad always said I had to be in charge.”

“Are you okay?” Bruce was amazed by the way the woman was handling all of this, losing her father, being kidnapped.  He worried that he was the one who’d dragged Janet into this … and Betty and Becca and Clint and the others. All this because he’d started the ball rolling years ago with one rash act in a lab.

“Not yet, but I will be. Strange, really. How in the darkest time something …” she glanced over at the tall scientist who was laughing with Carl and Gail, two of the lab techs from the Tower, “… someone good comes along.” She smiled at both of them. “But then I don’t have to explain that to you two, do I? Look at you, married with a beautiful kid despite all the shit thrown at you. Good men fighting for the rest of us.”

“Wow, that makes us sound like we’re super heroes or something,” Clint said, his hand possessive on Bruce’s back.  “But, yeah, good things happen to even the most screwed up of us.” He leaned over and kissed Bruce’s cheek, a whiskey flavored exhale that warmed all the way to Bruce’s toes.

“Okay, okay, no PDAs unless you plan on going full on porno. If so, let me get my camera ready.” Tony strolled up, winked at Jan and switched out Clint’s almost empty glass for a full one. “Fine, I’ll give you a pass for the whole newlywed thing … 48 hours max on the public sexiness and then it’s back to shy doctor and obnoxious smartass.”

“Is that a challenge?” Clint had a dangerous glint in his eye, one Bruce knew all too well. “Cause you know I’ve got no problem with PDAs.”

“What happens in Fairyland …” Tony was egging Clint on. Between the fine whiskey Clint had been drinking and the jovial atmosphere of the evening, Bruce knew it wouldn’t take much to make Clint push the boundaries.

“Puts Vegas to shame,” Clint joked back. “What the hell, right?”

He spun Bruce around and kissed him, a full-on, bodies pressed together, hands gripping Bruce’s ass as he slotted their hips together, tongue involved, sweeping deep type. Not so long ago, Bruce could never have imagined a kiss like this, in public no less. He heard the applause and catcalls, lots of clinking of glassware, but he didn’t care about anything but Clint and this moment.  It was a strange emotion he was feeling … warm and pliable and easy and comfortable. Not lust or even desire; his cock stirred as Clint brushed against him, sure, but this, this was different. Love he knew as well, the connection between them that went deeper and further than anything else Bruce had known. But this new feeling was … contentment? Trust? A love so sure of itself that there was no room for doubt?

“A toast!” Tony shouted as Clint let Bruce take a breath.

“Here we go,” Clint murmured. “We knew it was coming.”

“A toast! A toast!” The people called, laughter all around.

“Kick us off, Red,” Tony said. Natasha crossed her arms and glared at Tony, but then she sighed and took the glass Melinda May offered.

“To the dumbest smart man I know. Seriously, Bruce. You sure you want to saddle yourself with this guy? I happen to know he leaves the toilet seat up, drops his wet towel on the floor and thinks that cleaning means changing the air freshener.” Everyone laughed, Clint’s the loudest.

“Don’t open that door, Tasha. I know all the secrets of your … organizational quirks,” he jokingly warned.

“And I know where you keep all your stashes,” she shot back with a big grin.  “Assume they’re compromised.”

“He hangs his towels up now,” Bruce broke into the banter to add. “The Other Guy hates wet tile floors.”  

“And that’s why you work so well together,” Natasha continued, she raised her glass high. “To Bruce and Clint. May you always have each other’s back. Budem!”  Clinking of glasses and calls of “Cheers!” followed as everyone drank. “Steve?”

“Ah, well, I’m not good at being funny, so I’ll stick with what I know.” Steve waited until he had the room’s attention before continuing. “As most of you know, I’m kind of new to this time. Waking up here was disorienting, to say the least. Helicarriers, alien invasions, and Tony’s drama? Not what I was used to.”

“Hey!” Tony interjected. “You like my drama.”

Steve winked at Tony and continued. “What I did know, do know, is how important a team is. To see the two of you, men of such strength and valor, find each other, well, that fills me with hope for us all. That old-fashioned ideas like trust and promises and marriage are alive and well. So, here’s to two men who are not just friends or team mates, but have become my family. Cheers!”

“You trying to make me cry, Rogers?” Clint asked after he’d sipped at his whiskey. “You could just take me to a Lakers game when they’re blowing a lead.”

“Quit supporting for the wrong teams, and that wouldn’t happen,” Steve replied.

“Okay, no sports talk. My turn.” Tony took the floor. “To Katniss and the Big Guy, both of whom I’ve seen naked far too many times for comfort.”

“Tony.” Pepper’s voice rang above the others.              

“The pictures are all over the internet, Pep. That’s why I invented Hulk proof pants. Legolas there is just a nudist at heart.” Tony winked. “Anyway, I don’t get the whole monogamy thing, I mean, sex with one guy for the rest of your life? Not like you’re getting any now with nighttime feedings, but one day Becca will be old enough to go out on her own in thirty or so years and, assuming you can still get it up, I have to say I admire that commitment to stay together. Of course, it’s not exactly just the two of you; Big Green counts for at least a foursome.” Steve cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. “Joking, Cap. Just joking.” Tony took up his glass. “To Bruce and Clint. Damn it, you make this marriage thing look good. The good news is that I’m pretty sure Becca’s dates are going to be terrified of her fathers. Bad news is, she’s got a bunch of uncles and aunts who are just as scary. ‘Cause you two are part of the collected set, this crazy, dysfunctional group of messed up psyches. So quit making the rest of us look bad by being so happy.”

Bruce knew what Tony was saying; it rang true in his voice and the suspicious sparkle in his eyes.

“I shall offer my gift to you. Maggie, please?” Thor nodded and the waiters brought out two crystal flutes filled with a golden liquid. Bruce tilted his up to the light; bubbles moved slowly through the thick mead. “We drink to the future and the past, to battles won and lost, to love strong and true. To warriors, noble and faithful, and the bonds that tie us together. To strength partnered with cunning, knowledge with wisdom, compassion with eagle sight. To our shield mates, stronger as one than three. May you be blessed with fair skies, much laughter, and beautiful children.” He paused and looked at Becca, held now in Maria Hill’s grasp, and amended the traditional toast. “Even more beautiful children!” 

“Salinte!” Eric Selvig called, and everyone followed suit, holding up their glasses and clinking them together.

“Drink it all in one go,” Thor told them. He did the same with his own mug.

Clint shrugged and they drank together. It tasted of sunshine and honey and mountain meadows; a heady rush of alcohol and Bruce went from sober to the perfect level of pleasantly buzzed. Which, in and of itself, was an oddity since he hadn’t been drunk since the Hulk. Heat coursed down his throat, filled his stomach and he was suddenly very content.

“Asgardian mead.” Clint looked at his empty glass. “I thought only royalty were allowed to drink this.”

“Great warriors of renown are often gifted with the drink of the Gods,” Thor explained. “For feats of bravery and valor. You have saved not only this world but aided Asgard more than once. My father agreed you deserved such a boon.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, carefully setting the glass down, almost missing the tray, his depth perception off. “It’s … potent.”

“Aye, that it is!” Thor clapped Clint on the back, and he took two steps, holding onto Bruce’s arm to keep his balance. “Even friend Hulk will feel its effects. I waited until the end of the speeches to gift it to you for that reason.”

A hand slipped inside Bruce’s jacket, running just above the waistband of his slacks, fingers trailing hot lines that pooled in the small of Bruce’s back where they came to rest. Clint moved closer, tucking himself into Bruce’s side, eyes bright, the mead working its magic on them both.

“We need to say something,” Clint said. “You want to? Or I can.”

“You do it.” Bruce couldn’t think of a reason not to rest his hand on Clint’s ass. “Short and sweet. I’m hungry.”

“Hold on, Big Guy. I’ll be quick.” Clint raised his voice to be heard across the whole restaurant. “Thank you, everyone, for coming out tonight to celebrate this crazy thing we’ve gone and done. We’re counting on you to help us out; we’ve got a babysitting volunteer list over on the counter. Seriously, though, Bruce, the Hulk and I are grateful for all of your support and friendship. Well, maybe not Stark, but, what the hell, he did foot the bill for the food and booze tonight and keeps the Big Guy in chips and Disney flicks, so, yeah, Tony too.”

“Thanks,” Tony drawled.

“Before the mead completely kicks in, I’ll just say that you better get your plates filled because the Hulk is hungry.” Clint waved at the buffet. “Let’s eat!”

Maggie insisted they sit in their favorite booth, Clint sliding in first and Bruce on the outside of the same bench, and then a line of servers brought whole pans straight from the oven just for them. As the mead filtered into Bruce’s body, everything became a series of images, words and sounds and smells like snapshots of the emotions he felt. Spicy marinara sauce, salty garlic bread, smooth ravioli and Clint’s hand on his thigh. Tony’s laughter, Natasha’s smile, Becca’s sleepy eyes closing, and Mar-vell’s fingertips brushing Carol’s hair back.  Jazz music, a debate over James Bond movies, and Clint humming a lullaby as he rocked Becca. Phil leaving with their little girl, Clint pouring more wine in Bruce’s never-emptying glass, Steve and Tony with eyes for only each other sharing a helping of pasta pescadori, and Maria dancing with Jasper in the impromptu emptied space. Clint’s profile, lit by the candle on the table, telling a story, lips curving up in a smirk, eyes crinkling at the corners, nose wrinkling as he laughed, his arm outstretched behind Bruce on the bench, fingers light on Bruce’s shoulder. Kissing those lips until all the sound died away and there was nothing but the two of them because Bruce couldn’t think of one damn good reason not to. Stumbling out the door, pushed along by too many helping hands, paper bags full of food, another bottle of wine, and a set of apartment keys. The chill breeze in the dark of the city, Clint pushing him against a wall, kissing Bruce senseless, the giggle of a passing group of teens. Door closing, abandoning the bags, jackets off, shoes gone, tumbling into the bed in a golden haze of hands and mouths and knees and chests and arms and legs and hard aching cocks. Heavy breathing, sweating, reaching, sliding, jolts of pleasure, squeaking springs, folded legs, and slick hands. Full mouth, soft curses, tiny bruises, closed eyes, and orgasmic falls. Mine. Yours. Again. Please. I love you. Always.

~+~

“Waffles or pancakes?” Clint called to Bruce who was being lazy this morning, taking his time getting out of bed. “That mead is amazing; drunkest I’ve been in forever and absolutely no hangover. In fact, I’m starving and feel great. Energized. Except for the ache in my back; I should have known better than to try that position last night. I’m not as limber as I used to be.”

“I certainly enjoyed it.” Bruce wandered over in a pair of sleep pants slung low on his hips. They’d both put them on because they needed to get breakfast delivered. He sniffed at the filled cup of coffee Clint sat on the counter. “How about both? I’ll order from Stacy’s Diner; we’re close enough.”

As Bruce picked up the phone, Clint began to clean off the countertop. They’d eaten more of Maggie’s food and the delicious cupcakes when they’d taken breaks from their sex marathon of epic proportions. The mead had kicked their libidos into overdrive, Clint almost keeping pace with Bruce’s Hulk powered recovery time. In fact, the effects were still lingering; as Clint watched the play of muscles across Bruce’s chest, he began to calculate what the delivery window would be and if there was enough time for a quickie before the food arrived.

His hand fell on the envelope Steve had pressed into his hand last night, the one with the keys to this place inside. They’d done no more than open the door and toss it aside in their hurry; now, Clint could see that there were papers inside. Pulling them out, he looked at the deed, the names on it, and the heavier piece of paper tucked in the large manila pouch. It was a picture of the four of them on a big couch, the Hulk on one end, remote in his hand, a big bag of popcorn in his lap. Bruce on the other side, feet propped up, arm outstretched along the back. Clint in the middle, Becca in his lap, Bruce ruffling her hair as the Hulk looked down at them all. Behind the drawing was a handwritten letter.

“What’s that?” Bruce laid the phone on the counter, stepped up behind him, and looked over Clint’s shoulder.

“It’s from Steve. He gave it to us as we were leaving last night.”

They read it together:

_Bruce, Clint, and Hulk,_

_I know it’s usually Tony who makes the extravagant gestures and let me apologize now for the wedding present he’s going to spring on you when you get back to the Tower. Pepper and I voted against it. Anyway, this isn’t about Tony; this is about me giving you guys room to be a family. Look, if anyone knows the need to get away sometimes, it’s me. My little place in Brooklyn is my refuge and I don’t know what I’d do without it when I need to think about things. As much help and love and caring there is in the Tower for you and Becca, there’s going to come a day when you need your own home as a couple and as a family. I remember Clint telling me about that dream where he saw this place long before any of us even imagined a joy like Becca could be in our lives. I believe you are meant to have this, to have the future Clint imagined, all of you together. Not that it will be easy, but the least I can do is offer what help I can to make it happen._

_Don’t worry about the money. The SI lawyers got me back pay and residuals from all those comic books and toys and things; it’s more than I’ll ever know what to do with and Tony has taught me that, if you can’t spend money on your friends, where can you spend it?_

_Enjoy._

_Steve_

_P.S. Tony knows and is already planning on buying the building to upgrade the security and add a landing pad on the top. Sorry._

Bruce wrapped an arm around Clint and squeezed. “Well. If it was Tony, I’d argue with him. But Steve?”

For a second, Clint could see the kitchen the way it had been in his dreams, all gleaming stainless steel and white cabinets and grey granite. “We’ll have to gut the kitchen and the bathrooms. Entryways with sliding warehouse doors. Knock down a few walls. Reinforce the balcony for Hulk landings. Maybe those patio doors that disappear back into the wall? And the Lichtenstein would look great on the wall opposite the fireplace. Always did want to try my hand at remodeling, maybe do some of the work myself. We’re in no hurry, so we can take our time.”

“We can do that,” Bruce agreed, dipping his head to nip at Clint’s ear. “But first, breakfast. I ordered extra maple syrup and they’re sending whipped cream for the Belgian waffles. Since we’re going to tear this countertop out, guess it won’t matter if we get it sticky?”

“Not a bit,” Clint replied, dropping the deed and the note. “Not a bit, Doc.”                        


End file.
